The tree drops her leaves as the wind swirls round,
The season of the swing has ended,
Together they stand in the changing seasons.
Silently waiting through the rain and the cold,
Joy comes with the sun, in the form of a child or an old soul,
Delighted and flying, feeling the wind beneath them, and tree, strong above.

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Robert Louis Stevenson