The Girl on a Swing
Does she walk to the school, because she doesn’t live far.
Or does she get a ride or drive her own car.
She comes around four, when no one’s around.
She finds her favorite swing on the Westminster playground.
She arrives after pick-up, it’s always the same.
Everyone sees her, yet no one knows her name.
She slowly sways, with the wind in her hair.
Listening to her I-pod, without a care.
We see her from a distance, but we can’t describe her face.
Yet every dusk, this seems to be her usual place.
I want to approach her to see if she’s cool.
Yet I’m somewhat frightened, she may go to public school.
I always smile and wave, I don’t want to seem like a jerk.
However, she returns my greetings with only a smirk.
This awful feeling of dislike, I must mend.
I hope one day, we can become swinging friends.
She’s always alone and swings to the sky.
I hope she’s not lonely, I ask myself, why.
No one has the courage to make conversation.
Making a new friend, could be an awesome sensation.
My questions are always unanswered, there’s things we don’t know.
Like why does she still come when the playground is covered in snow.
It‘s been over year, and we still don’t know a thing,
About the girl on a swing.
By Liz Meschewski and her father
No comments:
Post a Comment