The wind sings softly,
a melody forgotten,
wrapped in dreams, it dances
through the empty swings.
Once, we whispered secrets,
beneath the tall old oak,
its branches cradling our voices,
as they floated into nowhere.
Now, the shadows listen,
to tales we left untold,
holding echoes of laughter,
like trapped fireflies in a jar.
Do you remember,
the secret map we drew?
Lines and curves leading
to somewhere special—nowhere.