The Swing

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Swinging in a tree so high,
with breezes in my hair.
Oh, what a lovely way to die,
drifting without a care.

A plank is stretched beyond the sand,
I teeter, then I fall.
The salty sea against my hands,
the waves begin to call.

Swimming on a day so sweet,
floating through the sea.
Gentle waves lap over my feet,
what's become of me?

The blazing sun begins to set,
but I don't want to go.
Should I have used a safety net?
Perhaps I'll never know.





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