Waiting for Spring

I wonder how she feels, sitting all alone,
Watching sunrises and sunsets come and go.
She moves with the wind, fragile and light,
Her wood is rich and dark, with a finished shine.
Her chains are young and clean, glistening in the light,
And people will visit her once or twice,
But only when the weather's right.

I wonder how she feels to hang all day,
How she can't turn and look another way.
Does she get bored of the same view,
Of the sunrise,
The rain that falls heavily, or the thunder that cries?
Does she yearn to be used, to have children in her sight,
Or is she at peace with her life?

I wonder how she feels, how she sits there all alone,
And time has no meaning because days come and go.
And she has no say in what is done or how she is used,
But I wonder how much she has learned just by being still.

And the house she's hooked to hasn't said a word to her,
Because she's seen as strange, as someone people don't trust.
And all this is in thought as she goes day to day,
Being stuck with the same view and the same name.

Because she is rarely used in the way she was made to be,
But she sits there wondering
When the moon will fall asleep.
She wonders if the sun will come again
Or if he will decide to sleep in.

And the flowers will die with an autumn breeze,
And white flakes will fill the yard,
Accompanying the cold breeze.

And she sits there, waiting for the next spring.