The Tree Swing by Elizabeth Henry

illustration: Delphine Woods

I made a gaudy tree swing in a bosky garden glade

From rope and wood and scraps of toile, with scissors and a blade.

I dangled my concoction from an old and knobbly tree,

Between a pink clematis and a sweet mint Kolibri.

 

I sat in it and twizzled it and swayed it to and fro’.

I spun it rather speedily and then I made it slow.

I read in it, then lay in it and had a little doze

Amidst the cheery sparrows and a rambling yellow rose.

 

I used it as a sanctuary to hide from rowdy crowds,

Unwinding ‘neath the dappled shade, whilst gazing at the clouds.

I scrawled a composition as I jiggled in the breeze:

A song about a ladybug, a beetle and some bees.

 

I had a celebration on a fine midsummer’s night,

With streamers, flags and bunting and a bonfire burning bright.

I lounged inside my saggy swing and watched the wine cascade,

Content to be secluded from the raucous cavalcade.

 

But then I left it hanging in the brume and in the snow,

And after countless bouts of rain the mould began to grow.

The clothe went black and dotty and expelled a putrid smell.

No longer was my gaudy swing a pleasant place to dwell.