How many times has that swing held a little guy to be pushed at first,
then as he grew older, it was his daddy to push higher and higher.
His sneakers trying to reach the treetop or outdo his playmate
I wonder so many times if he remembers the laughter
as he shouted "higher, higher" up there in heaven where he now resides
I wonder if his last thoughts on earth were those as he slipped quietly away.
I muse on this issue, that silent swing that stands so still
brought so much joy to that little boy
I've never had the heart or inclination to take it down
and store it away with all his trophies and memories.
A simple thing a swing, going to and fro'
bringing pleasure, adventure or laughter
The ache begins, the tears start at the corner of my eyes
knowing that my little boy, who grew into such a fine young man
will never again utter the words to me "higher, higher"
for he is as high as he can go entertaining hiss maker
who loves him so.
The pain eases, replaced by a smile as I touch the ropes,
the wooden seat again, tugging to make sure they stay sturdy and perhaps someday
another little boy will excitedly shout "higher, Daddy, higher" and that swing will be empty no more