[Please note: I received this as a late-night email in paragraph form as a random thought from a friend. I tinkered with it just a little and made it a poem.]
Teeter Totter
When young, the playground was a magical place
huge machines all waiting to be controlled
spun and swung, twisted and turned
There came a time when the teeter totter stopped
I was no longer looking up at the limitless sky
but rather staring down at the dirt
The teeter totter won't be going down again
Perhaps there's a spare shovel
so I can earn my way into this potter's field
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