The Waiting Swing. ⏳🌳

The swing still drifts beneath the mango tree, 🥭🍃

its rope thinned by years of waiting. 🕰️

No hands grip it now,

but the breeze remembers how we flew. 🌬️

We were barefoot monarchs 

of a sunlit kingdom, 👣 

our crowns made of dandelions, 👑🌼

our laws written in mud. ☺️

The world bowed only to our laughter, 😆

and even the shadows

asked to stay near. 🌒

Down by the creek, 💧

we learned to listen — not with ears, but with wonder. ✨

The water spoke in silver syllables, naming things we’ve since forgotten. 🌊

Jasmine tangled at the edge of it all, 🌿🌸

sweet and wild, 🥀

marking where stories ended

and dreams began. 🌠

Now, I return, ✍️

not with steps, 👣

but with memory. 🧠

The swing still moves. ⛓️

The creek still sings, 🎶

though its voice is thinner, ❤️‍🔥

like breath behind glass. 🌫️🪟