Swings Wait

A writers' group I enjoy from time to time
posted this photograph as the prompt for
our next gathering. There will be
paragraphs and poems. This is mine.

Ships aren’t made for the harbor,

nor are dolls made for the shelf.

Books must be opened to be

useful, cherished, or adored.

And swings must wait for children 

to come running, climb on, 

pumping legs and squealing

with delight until the ground

is but a distant memory,

blue skies overhead.

The harbor’s safety can be comforting,

especially in a storm, but there is little 

sadder than a dusty doll, reminder 

of another time,

when it might brighten 

someone’s life again.

The pages of our lives will one day

turn, get past the prickly parts, and

find the happy ending from our dreams.

And like the swings, we wait in silence

and in stillness, ready to unleash the

perfect and potential energy we’ve let 

build up beneath a blue and cloudless sky.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2015