Leaves blowing. Children swinging - noisy swings. Sun shining.
Children running on dirt hard sand.
Sliding boards braced tightly to the ground.
Sun heating steel top rungs and part where kids go down.
Sandboxes sifting silently to themselves - no children within to imagine they're something else.
Playgrounds are a happy, lonely place when as an adult you return to them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem