The Gate is locked
The child stands
Outside the park
The sand, the swing
The creaking in the wind
The grill digs into the hands
The swing swings just so slightly
In the late evening breeze
Tempting, inviting
Calling the child
As I turn and walk away
Slowly, trudging, knees and ankles
Swollen, arthritic and weak
Leading the child in me home!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, Angelina. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks