[yorkie]

THE TIRE SWING
A poem by Zach McClure

He gazed across
The wind-swept meadow
To a lone tree
Standing there

Its jagged, silhouette
Surrendered ‘neath
A sky more firey embered
Than his flaming hair
Which crowned him then

But it was neither tree nor sky
That stole his youthful eye.
It was the tire swing
Whispering, promising,
“With-me, you can fly!”

The boy lept across the meadow
Like a deer panting for water,
Till at last
He climbed aboard his dream.
His round, black, holed
Flying machine.

Then, holding tight,
And bending to and fro
With all his might
Began to drive
Began to glide against
The sinking sun
Till it was night outside

Across the starry littered sky
Beneath the moon’s soft lullaby
Ascending ever higher
Make believing
He’s a flyer,
He smiles,
As he tips a wing.
He is an aviator.
He is the sky king!
And all because of one,
Old tire swing.

[MEG33]

Lovely graphic to go with this darling poem!
Thank you, yorkie.

[tiapam]

What an outstanding poem and fall graphic with “the swing!! It brings back childhood memories of being on a swing and thinking “I’m flying and can I go higher?” Thank you so much!!

[jaycee]

Lovely old tire swing, yorkie. And what a sweet poem. I bet all of us have some memories of an old tire swing....either ours or someone else’s. Sometimes we long for those “good-time days”, don’t we??