My Childhood
The aroma of sandalwood filled the air
As I danced around the living room
While living in a world free of care,
Yet this moment passed away all too soon.
The music my father used to play
On his Fender stratocaster of black and white,
Is now a memory from a left behind day
That has run and disappeared from my sight.
No rainy days, playing in the mud,
With my siblings and neighborhood friends;
Now cloudy days are filled with sweat and blood,
As I work for a means to an end.
Yet every once in a while I am swept away
In a series of childhood review,
As I remember scents, sights, or things my mother would say
I cling to the sweet moments, to the bad bid “adieu.”
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