The Last Rope Swing: A Symbol of Youth Left Behind

The West wasn’t won by luck—it was carved by determination and hard work.

In golden fields where silence breathes,

A rope swing hangs from weathered trees.

It swayed beneath the laughters song,

But time has passed, and youth feels wrong.

With calloused hands, I grasp its bind,

A fleeting tether to days unlined.

The breeze still whispers tales of cheer,

Yet echoes fade, and dreams disappear.

Once soaring high, we kissed the sky,

With hearts ablaze, we dared to fly.

Now shadows stretch, as dusk descends,

This swing, a ghost of childhood friends.

As stars ignite the endless night,

I ride alone, with hope in sight.

The last rope swing, a bittersweet song,

Marks the place where I once belonged.