like dirty red ivy
climbs slowly, relentlessly
up the once-vibrant links
of the swingset chains,
insidiously chewing away
at the merry memories lodged there.
A gossamer spiderís web
trails wistfully across the monkey bars
where clutching hands no longer grasp,
laughing yet desperate
to achieve the other side.
The frayed end of the climbing rope
flutters, lonesome in the sighing breeze,
which carries away the dandelion fluff
of a childhood gone to seed.