In the sweet summer
below the rusty fasteners of
an old swing I pump the air
with the spindly legs of childhood,
dream my wide eyed dreams of whirling
pathways to the beckoning sun.
My heart leaps at the sight of a brilliant
rainbow and with small fingers I reach up
to swathe its colors over a blue palette sky.
Now I know about life, the real truth of it.
Now I know the swing is just freedom.
(copyright H. Rene Hunter)