The swing existed almost at the center of the garden.
The ropes of the swing hung from the oldest tree there ever was.
They hung from an ever dancing and scandalous branch.
So much so, that when you swing, the branch squeaks, screeches and tumbles so hard that you can't tell if the branch is being grouchy or is very happy.
At night, the Moon rays slide through the leaves of the old tree.
And all night, with her rays, the Moon pushes and the swing rocks.