Memory is a fount of information
Where many things, both good and bad are kept,
A wellspring for constant contemplation;
What secrets are contained within its depths!!
Little things can cause us to remember
A sweet pleasure, for many years concealed;
One simple word could be the tiny ember
To spark to life a memory long sealed.
Listening to an old familiar tune,
Recalled a lovely place, I’d long forgot---
The wood where I sometimes played the truant;
When in strife, it was my safe hiding spot.
Feathered ferns form safe walls from prying eyes,
Bluebells and primroses carpet the ground,
The tall, lush fir trees searching for the skies;
There was beauty and stillness all around.
Thank God for sweet memories of childhood,
Precious moments to pleasantly recall,
Treasured times I spent, hid in the wildwood,
When all the world was big and I was small.
Though we think modern life is progression,
Living life in the fast lane takes its toll;
I’m thankful for this childhood regression
That permits me play truant from it all.
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