Packing our bags,
as if never coming back,
to never look back
at these baggy bags.

These baggy bags,
have you and me.
Memories,  now they flee,
with the bagginess these bags.

The park swing still swings,
as if it never missed our bubbling
nor the crazy chattering,
on that swing we used to swing.

Eccentric we were,
in terms of termly terms
like love,we had to squirm
and worm to who we were.

The park swing had bid adieu long ago,
but these baggy bags,
memory and love it drags;
these baggy bags don't flow with the foe.

These baggy bags,
packed bags,they sack
nothing but love and faith-
that, we once had.