The city is a saint.
I climb on my tire swing
to try and get a closer view of God.
Pray daddy tied the rope as true as his own.
His old Chevy tire
I swing without a push
reach out belief and bag a blessing
off a skyscraper’s spire.
© khartless 2020, All Rights Reserved
What Would Silvia Plath Write #141-50 words in her style
Oh, K, this one resonates so deeply. Reminds me of being a kiddo…love this poem…Happy weekend!
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Thanks, Jeff. I’ve always loved a tire swing. Cheers to a good weekend!
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Most welcome, K. Me too. Cheers!
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Can I have a go on that swing? Please! 🤣
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