When apples of laughter spill over the grass --
Gold dreams of sweet fruit as the bright hours pass --
I think of my playmates; I wish they were I
As up in the air I swing merrily high.
The air runs like water all over my face;
My hair blows out gaily as if in a race;
I pull at the ropes with a Hip-Hip Hooray!
And I think myself far, far away in my play.
I am over the gullies and over the trees
And over and over and over the seas;
The cows and the stockyards are lost at my feet --
I'm sailing and sailing to Lily-Land sweet.
And there I alight with a wild little cry,
Ah ho! I've swung over the stars in the sky.
I stay for a blue little minute; then back --
Back, back I swing home to the dust on the track.
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 4 August 1925
