Ode to an Old Friend

I wrote this poem just now, after returning from my grandparent's house.  It isn't Shakespeare; it doesn't rhyme.  But it comes from the heart, and I must let it be known that I love my little friend, and the memories that we share.

I remember well the joy

That I got from my old friend.

As a little girl, free of care

Swinging round and round.

I remember making Grandpa sick

With my circular motions 

That my faithful old friend 

Allowed me to make.

I remember him asking me 

Not to so round and round, 

But rather up and down.

He'd gladly swing us through the sky

On our little black friend.

I remember squealing with fright

As wasps flew at me furiously

Coming out of their temporary home

In my little black friend.

I remember making my cousin

Dizzy, when I spun the two of us

Round and round and round.

Then back around again.

I remember fighting with my brothers

For the right to ride on my little friend.

I remember consenting to push them

As I grudgingly gave them their turn.

I remember crying when my hair 

Got caught in the enduring blue ropes.

I remember the thrill of going to Gandma

And Grandpa's, to go play with my friend.

I remember spinning, waiting for dinner to be called.

I remember rushing through dinner, so that I 

Could go back out to my lonely friend,

Trying to be the first of six

To get back on him again.

I remember thinking about that little black friend

Held away from the ground by sturdy blue ropes.

As we grew, we found new ways to 

Fit four into the little hole.

Spreading out legs and standing.

But alas, everything must at one point 

Come to an end.  And I know that we have 

Been blessed with the joy of the tire swing.

The five eldest of us have outgrown our 

Little black friend.

I thought about asking for it to be taken down

But there is one grandchild yet

Who needs the faithful old swing.

And maybe, by the time she has

Outgrown it as well, there will be another

Little one to take the tradition 

Into the next generation.  

So I must plead, to whom it may concern,

Do not remove my friend.  Let him hang

For generations to come.