Old and Worn

There’s an old tire swing,
hanging from an old oak.
The ropes are frayed and worn,
and the tire itself has seen better days.
The branch it hangs from is solid,
chosen for the peace of mind,
that it would not give.
The oak has grown tall,
and has seen many years
and many seasons.
It has felt many squirrels
climbing along its thick bark.
But what it remembers most,
is those summers many years ago.
The summer with the two children.
A girl and a boy.
Who always shared the shade of it’s tree.
Their shared weight upon
the newly hung tire swing.
Running and falling,
getting back up again
like children always do.  
Their laughter carried through the wind
through the branches and the leaves
echoing there for years to come.
Children came and went,
but none captured the oak’s heart
like the first children to play under it’s shade.
And as its last days came,
their laughter sounded like a ghost
through the wind.
Their weight was an imaginary presence  
on that old and worn tire.
And the oak was happy.