To venture,

The lost playground
of my youth,
Is never gone.
It lingers in my gestures,
excitement’s frozen glance.

The whoosh and swoop
of swing and slide
a cadence upon my
worn out sigh.

I will hold on
and maybe, this cotton-wool world
will grow again,
one day

If luck
and circumstance
as soft surrender,

To envelop me in rose

  • by Lydia Jane Bennett