The Old Oak Tree

The old oak tree A lonely old wooden swing Suspended in complete stillness Gripped by ropes once white Now stained with memories of childhood Frayed and worn Two decades old It hangs faithfully to the strong arms of the huge oak tree Golden leaves hang off the dry deeply rippled branches By the tiniest vein Their yellow and brown comrades surround them A gentle gust of wind sending them fluttering on their last flight Through musky damp air down to wet ground below A dreaded smell of death for the non-deciduous trees The lonely old wooden swing waits patiently and calm Protected by its giant friend Memories of swinging up into the air so high Holding tightly onto thick white ropes My long blonde hair flowing behind Laying back but holding on tight Legs in, legs out Eyes closed Swaying back and forth It feels like flying The air wafting over my happy face Back and forth, back and forth Standing up still swinging On bended legs Daring with no fear Long blistering hot summers sitting cross legged Making daisy chains for my gran Camps for the neighbours kids With old sheets tied to the old oak tree Telling ghost stories to each other Plastic cups and saucers Pretend tea and cakes A British summer party Playing hide and seek within deep bushes Our jungle to explore Races on the lawn The smell of freshly cut grass hanging in the air My pretty red and white gingham dress Stained with the debris, as were my hands Nails as green as the Incredible Hulk School holidays seemed to last forever The lonely old wooden swing now sits dormant Waiting patiently and calm To be loved once more Hear the laughter of children And it will Of that I am certain As the wind blows the swing starts to move Back and forth, back and forth Swaying slowly, a solitary soul Demonstrating its approval As I present my new born daughter From her nursery window To future adventures in her garden The last leaf drops slowly to the earth