My sister's favourite poem

            My sister, who died on June 1, 2022,  liked a poem which my mother taught to us when we were little - "The Swing", by Robert Louis Stevenson, from "A Child's Garden of Verses."  Our childhood swing consisted of two tall poles and a cross-beam which held two sturdy ropes that ended in a wooden seat. Cutting the trees for these poles, auguring out the holes and getting them securely planted in the earth must have been a big job for our father, working alone; indeed, perhaps most fathers were too busy, as I don't remember any of our classmates having a swing.  A short distance from the back door, it was close to the flowerbed where roses and phlox grew.  

            When I was six and she was three,  I used to push her on the swing, and was always cautious not to make her go too high in case she fell off.  As she grew, of course, she didn't need my help.

        When we soared into the air we could see down the hill where the cattle drank at the creek and, on the other side of the valley, the road disappearing into the spruce and poplar forest. (Our farm was in  Northeastern Ontario).                

             Sandra taught the poem to her own children and I am sure her grandchildren know it too. A framed copy, illustrated by an artist friend, was on display at her "Celebration of Life."  Here is 

        The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,

   Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

   Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

   Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

   Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,

   Down on the roof so brown—

Up in the air I go flying again,

   Up in the air and down!