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This swing could turn into anything! It still hangs at the old home-farm...
The old home-place where once I was a child...
Oh, to be a child again
Free and roaming wild again
Grab a toque, a sled, my sweet
Hear snow crunch beneath our feet
Climb those trees up to the sky
Skate without a helmet, my!
Let the wind rush through your hair
Toss the hat and we don’t care
Let our ears grow red with cold
Dumb to fear of growing old
Oh, to be a child once more
Listen to those dream-seas roar
Time, a creature on a clock
Day, a place where we unlock
The worlds we drew inside our heads
Of palace, pioneer, pirates
And oh, how far away we flew
As the front yard would turn into
A frigate fit for sailor, warrior
Until mother would call ‘supper!’
Oh, for just a day to be
Child; foot-loose and fancy-free
Grab a bike and don’t be late
Swing and sing on the front gate
Wear with pride, a day of dirt
Get so hungry that we hurt
Splash through meadowland and stream
Wash our bare feet in its dream
Wait, big sigh… that was before
Ipad, Ipod, Iphone and more…
© Janet Martin
Inspired by Monica's 'oh, to be a child again'in her post yesterday...
By Bills' And besides, a helmet may be able to prevent a great many things, but it sometimes takes more than it gives...
By Gary's poem Look up
Sometimes the longing to go back to this time is a powerful one...
ReplyDelete:) yes. It seems simpler looking back, but at the time we didn't really think so.
ReplyDeleteThis is great! Made me want to run and play. Funny thing....as I lay in bed last night, trying to go to sleep, I thought about swinging, how you have to pump your legs to go high, high, higher! It used to be my favorite thing to do, that rush of wind....how much fun that was. Oh, to be a child again, "dumb to fear of growing old".
ReplyDeleteI'm here from Duce's place, checking out his links.
Thank-you for stopping on my porch Yvonne! I still swing when I get the chance, on a big old rope swing. not quite the same as when I was a child but it makes me feel a little younger somehow;) I often recite Robert Louis Stevenson's Poem, How I love to go up in a swing, when I push the little guys a babysit. 'up in the sky so blue'...they love it!
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