Swing modern poetry

The lark landed on the swing.

Look into my eyes.

Pour out her memories.

Hold up the bird that I once loved.

Angie

Do you remember the days when you were with me?

The lark left.

Fly away alone.

Dragonfly landed on my skirt.

Complain to me about her playmate. Dragonfly left

left with her partner

left the swing

and left me

How many years later

I met my swing again

My six-year-old sister

This girl with a pure face

invited me to sit on her swing

I tried to find the artistic conception of my childhood

Let the swing sway in the gentle sunshine. After all, it can't bear

more years

because it

no longer belongs to me

only belongs to my six-year-old sister.