Up and down the children cry.
Each wait their turn to be.
Children think on days like this.
They all learn how to fly.
And teachers are what teacher's
always are and claim to be.
Flowers, birds and yellow bumblebees.
When upon this swing they fly and sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a coincident to have two poems on Swing. Thrills of childhood came back!