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Swinging
March 8, 2019
In sweet, fresh air, my wind-blown hair waves.
First into my face, then behind me.
My mind roams, flying between worlds.
Attached with chains, keeping me safe.
But not anymore, I fall.
Oh no, call the nurse.
© Margaret G., Hillsborough, NJ
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This is written in a Korean poetic form called sijo.