Apparently I've developed a trend of posting 2 times per month. Shameful. Tsk tsk, Sarah, tsk tsk.
I do have a purpose however; I'm here to muse on the joys of a swing. There really is nothing more relaxing than sitting in a nice backyard in a big old swing and just being. We used to have a swing...but alas, it has been dismantled and discarded. It's sad, really. Swings always remind me of a poem my Grandma used to recite, which my Dad taught me when I was little, appropriately named "The Swing," by Robert Louis Stevenson:
"How do you like to go up in a swing/Up in the air so blue/Oh, I do think/It is the pleasantest thing/Ever a child can do./Up in the air and over the wall/Till I can see so wide/Rivers and trees/And cattle and all/Over the countryside./Till I look down on the garden green/Down on the roof so brown/Up in the air I go flying again/Up in the air and down."
I love that poem, simple and sweet, but it says it all. (Some of those line divisions [can't remember what they're called... *scandalous*...don't tell my Writing about Literature teacher] may be incorrectly placed.)
It just seems like all is right with the world for a few minutes...Ugh, what sap that is. I am NOT a sappy person. But alas, a swing might make me a bit of a sap...for a few minutes at least.
P.S. I shall (whoo..."shall!") update/edit this when I remember what those / marks are at the end of lines of poetry. Then everyone's life will be complete, I'm sure. (I may not be sappy, but I sure am sarcastic! And cynical...)
I remember what the / marks are called: caesuras!!!!!! Update July 4, 2008.
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