• The wind picks up, sending leaves scurrying
    The woods are silent, full of shadows and secrets
    Snow begins to fall, soft then flurrying
    He did not understand, why he had so many regrets
    But through the blizzard he veiwed a swing
    Small and empty, lonely and forgotten
    Seeing this swing, showed sadness to bring
    The rope was molded and the wood was rotten
    But there it hung, old and weak
    Moving gently in the breeze and catching snow
    He moved to it closer, his body tired and meek
    His hands grabbed the rope, to show that he did know
    The swing was a friend that he left long ago
    When he layed down and died in the unforgiving snow