Horror, Poem

The Swing

There is a girl in a lovely pink dress,
Seems too small for her, but she wears it nevertheless.
She sits on the swing and looks at the sky,
A smile on her face as she sings a lullaby.

The girl had her hair tied in a pink ribbon,
But she doesn’t seem to play with any of the children.
She sits on the swing, goes back and forth,
Scraping the ground using her foot.

The girl on the swing, she’s always there once a year,
Swinging up and down, every 10th of September.
Her hair tied in a pink ribbon, wearing the lovely pink dress,
That even if its too small, she wears nevertheless.

I sat on the swing a day before the 10th,
And saw that the ground had seemed to ascend,
Under my feet was a gravestone that paved,
To the girl in a little pink dress’ grave.

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17 thoughts on “The Swing”

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