Little ******* a swing.
She loves to sing.
Silly songs that rhyme.
Never sitting but standing.
Never the same are the songs she sings,
Not twice the words alike.
Back and forth, up and down,
The song and the swing glide softly.
The melody made, as people pass her way,
Remove pains, grief, and anger.
Yes, The ******* a swing
And the songs that she sings,
Recall of delight and mischief,
The joy of her song bring memories along
Of childhood long forgotten.