Wistful are the memories of my long past youth,
when the fairy's reward received I for each little tooth,
when toddling Thom was tiny Tim's giggling mate,
and both with infant mischief conspired mother to exasperate.
Three older brothers leaving foot prints large,
were followed by the tots in a running charge.
We sneaked about the house with midnight stealth,
discovering in all things ordinary our imagination's wealth.
What a tale my recollection could enchanting tell,
when life, was I told, went so innocently well,
when heroes were every man with muscle,
and a princess was a cartoon damsel set with flourished bustle,
when days were for play as nights were for dreams,
and all was good as to naiveté seems.
Yes, those frolic days I sorely miss,
when my father's lips I still could loving kiss,
and mother laid me down with prayers to sleep,
knowing heaven's sentries my simple soul would safely keep.
May they come back once more full round,
and in them there be I forever found.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE Read more articles by Tim Rake or search for other articles by topic below.
Thank you, Kon. I think I've written a few good pieces...too many just go out without the necessary time to refine...but your comments are deeply appreciated.
I agree with what you say about how our adulthood has corrupted the innocence of childhood.
I so love your poetry Tim! I don't read poetry as a rule. "Days for play and nights for dreams' -when we were naive. now we are complex and daydream foolishly during the day and play our wicked games at night.