The Swing on the Giant Oak

Under the low roof of a small mud house,

Beside a giant oak tree,

There lived a boy with his sister.

His age five years and hers three.

 

At night to help each other sleep,

Sweet songs they used to sing.

They rocked each other on a rope

On the branches of the oak that passed for a swing.

 

Their heads touching and their legs tangled

They slept.

They were happy in each other’s company.

And neither of them ever wept.

 

But on that day they wept.

The day the storm arose.

Strong icy winds blew

Both within and around the house.

 

Though they held each other tight,

They were torn apart.

Though the brother lived on,

He lost half of his heart.

 

While his sister lay content in her grave,

He sat kneeling beside her.

He wept late into the night

In the forest of fir.

 

Often he sat at the base of the oak

And looked sadly at the swing.

Though he could not see her there,

He could somehow hear her sing.

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