Push Me

Swinging

The grass is worn beneath my feet,

There’s a dirt-filled hole below the seat,

The seat is a hard, wooden board,

Hung from the oak tree by strong chords,

I hop right on, my hands hold tight,

I push off the ground with all of my might,

I lean way back and pump my feet,

It’s like I’m flying in my seat,

Swinging on my homemade swing,

Really is the coolest thing,

All my friends want a turn,

They watch me first so they can learn,

The backyard is the place to be,

If they want to swing like me!

Tammy Harvey 

written:  2/24/2016

This poem is for my great niece Ellie, who will turn 3 years old tomorrow!!

She loves swinging!