A warm summer afternoon, miles from home, alone;
A girl sits on a swing, lost in reverie.
The long ropes creak as she disects the air in a lazy arc,
Like the pendulum of a mighty metronome,
Slowing down time beneath the stately oak tree.
Out here, the Earth turns to a different rhythm,
Dancing through time and the universe,
Forever slow waltzing with the silent Moon,
Spinning and whirling, around and around,
To the tempo of the girl on a swing
Conducting the cosmos
In languorous curves of slow-motion,
As the sun spreads clouds of gold dust 
And the lark sings songs of summer.
Distant lovely thunder
Trembles somewhere behind the clouds,
The sky begins to bruise, 
The golden afternoon must end,
Soon it will be dark and summer will be gone.