My Gram

The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson was probably the first poem I knew from memory. She recited it to me endlessly. It is still a bond we share.

When she needs to give a quick and secret message, she just has to say,
"Oh, how I love to go up in a swing," and I know what she means.

         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!