The ominous moon lit up the night,
Illuminating the lone porch swing,
To and fro it swung, depressed;
Feeling dejected, rejected, it confessed
“If only my death were swift!”

Yet as the days passed one by one,
The porch swing had indeed become weak;
With its chains coated with rust and seats covered with dust,
It moped and lamented,
“If only my death were swift!”

When at last a familiar young lad,
Returned to visit the lone porch swing,
Its hopes were shattered as the master turned away.
The porch swing flew off its course, crying,
“If only my death were swift!”

Alas! The great irony-
Following the exclamation, “If only my death were swift!”
The chains supporting the porch swing were freed,
The sorrows and pressures gone at last!
Along with life’s gifts of joy and happiness.