in the middle of the park stood
a rustic swing singing with whistling wind.
metal to metal friction creates creepy creeks.
back and forth, back and forth,
high to low, high to low,
the burning sun revealed no swinging child,
only a nameless shadow.
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash
In response to dVerse‘s Quadrille #17 by De of whimsygizmo.