Swing

The swing has not much to its name,
nor beauty to behold.
It's just a seat hung from a frame,
with ropes for us to hold.

It stands quietly on the ground,
just waiting in plain sight.
Until at last a child comes 'round,
and hops on with delight.

We see such excitement and joy,
on the face of the happy child.
Almost as if a new-found toy,
it swings so free and wild.

20191009
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Swing