She said to me “Where went the days of sandboxes and swings?
Of days without rumors and lies to which we cling?”

And I answered her with all that knew,
of sandboxes and swings and the time that flew.

“Those days are gone from us just like the sand in that box.
It’s pointless to hover and try to turn back the clocks.”

“The swings are broken and in disrepair.
It’s time’s way of saying that you can’t stay here”

“It’s time to fill that box with soil brand new,
and plant something of use to give you a clue.”

“Those swings can be fixed if only to show
that we don’t need a rope to fly high with our troubles below.”