to the days I loved being me

Things I left behind, 

Those lyrical, never ending rhymes, 

Of alphabet on a swing, 

With the musical laughter of

The carefree evening tea, 

Brewed by the promising, 

Fairy tales of eternity. 

Honeycombed laughter, 

Melting glee, 

Yellow skies

Under which were we. 

The air was easier to breathe, 

The days, the longer, 

The nights more sweet. 

But all that was as it was, 

Was there until it had to be.

The fresh scent of mown grass, 

Ornaments in my memory.