It sits suspended underneath the shade,
beneath the trees and the blistering hot sun.
Warm, chipped paint tells of memories gone by;
the empty space tells how long ago it was.
It witnessed the happy and the mournful;
the sight of the angry and the sorrow.
Holder of both the lost and the found years,
marks the passage of times both past and near.
It’s quiet presence touches my still mind, drawing me to its comforting embrace.
The silence speaks in ways that words cannot,
brining a peace that I have never known.
I sit and listen to the creaking wood,
adding quiet memories to this life.