Spells of chatter and laughter at the nearby park

A seesaw, swings up and down

The soles of their feet hit the ground

As they take turns to fly

Their shadows cast by the sun

Up and down

He coughs and limps to find rest in the dark

To a wooden bench, broken and round

He sits and looks at his feet, dirty and brown

He prays to the man in the sky

But moon hides. The night nearly done

Broken and round

How can balance be fair

When there’s always someone in despair?