THE  TIRE  SWING  by David Clure

He gazed across the wind swept meadow

to a lone tree  standing there

its jagged, silhouette surrendered

'neath a sky  more fiery embered

than

his flaming hair, which crowned him then.

But ---  it was neither   tree nor sky

that stole his youthful eye. 

It was

the tire swing

               whispering, 

                       promising,  with me, you can fly! 

The boy lept across the meadow like

a deer panting for water,

till at last

he climbed aboard his dream

his round, black, holed

flying machine.

Then,  holding tight and bending to and fro

with all his might began to drive,

began to   g l  i  d   e

against the sinking sun

till

it was night outside 

 Across the starry-littered sky

beneath the moon's  s o f t  lullaby

Ascending ever higher

make-believing he's a flyer, 

he smiles, 

as he tips a wing.

He is an aviator.

He is the sky king!

And all because  of  one

old tire swing.

Copyright 2007 by  David Clure  "Norwood Night & Other Poems"