I know it must have emotions deeply seated,
Though they do not show,
It rises upward and then drops downward repeatedly,
With monotonous regularity,
Upward, and downward, then upward once more,
It travels with no forward direction.
It hears the weeping children injured, when they fall,
And listens to the angry voices of their mothers and their fathers.
A seesaw appears to be a simple plaything,
A board balanced upon a wedge of wood.
Sliding boards are thrilling;
There is joyous glee for a child upon a swing,
Carefree, gliding through the air.
There is no repose for a child upon a seesaw,
Who has no forward direction.
It raises acrophobiclally,
And falls downward towards hell.
It rises upward, downward and upward again,
And descends towards hell.
There is more pleasure playing in a sand pile,
Where children bury their heads hiding from the world.
If you pass by a playground,
You shall always see children falling off of a see saw-
Can you hear these children crying?
Listen to their voices screaming out in fear,
As they rise upward without control,
And drop downward, downward, and downward towards hell.