Her boy went off to war and died
     A long long time ago
Now nameless under foreign turf
     She half forgets it's so


Out in the yard an old chain swing
     Still holds a rusting board
And with each gentle breeze that blows
     Swings of its own accord


On sunny days she sits alone
     And peers at empty air
Without regards to laws which say
     That no one could be there
    

As though she still can hear a shrill
     Of laughter from the swing
She smiles toward the swaying board
     Immune to time's swift wing