In the hay loft
above the goats
there is a jungle swing
it hangs on the rafters
and awaits the children
lately
I am the child
that swings
each night
as the moon scatters
its jewels across the fields
and fire flies dance
to the song
of the night
the winter dance of the moon
with the hoar frost...
God's gift to His child
as I swing to the music
I remain the child
the dogs flow with me
in unison
as they watch
me in the loft
the goats chew their cuds
the chickens rest on their roosts
the diamonds sparkle
with each beat of my heart
and I won't stop
until I feel it
again
and
again
and
again
when I know the pulse
of the song
and the flow
of the dance
then the child moves down
from the swing
and is again
the old goat lady
as she slides
down the ladder
but no one knows
that in her heart
she is still
the little one
mystified
by the beauty
of the night
her mind is still dancing with the Light
and she puts away her milk
and hangs up her old bucket
and brushes the straw from her hair
and slides into her bed
an old lady to anyone else
but she is smiling
because in her heart
she is still dancing
and catching fire flies
as the moon
sends them out
one by one
into the night
and she
reaches over to hug her
old man
who still sighs
at her touch
and dreams
of
their youth
and remembers
the song and the dance of the moon
in the night
and the moon sends out its jewels
and they sparkle
as the old pair
take their rest
and their hearts beat as one
and they sigh
and smile
for the beauty
of the night
my swing
my favourite things
