The sun's yellow rays reach down to kiss my
Cheeks, and the old wooden swing I have since
Outgrown sways carelessly with the breeze.
The willow out back, heavy with leaves
Refracts green light into my eyes. I remember
The spinning days of summer when we danced
To the tune of the far off ice cream truck,
The melody of change in our pockets.
We swung on wooden swings until we reached
The clouds, blues and greens rushing past.
Too soon there would be nothing left but darkness,
With the only light leaking from jars of
Fireflies which sit upon our darkened
Bedsides. Blinking on, blinking off.