Back were the days when skipping rocks on a pond,
Leapfrogging on the lawn,
Light spirited, fun was a norm.
Blithe and breezy, jovial and sunny;
Like Peter, I’d shout, “I’m youth and I am joy.
I’m a little bird that has grown out of the egg”.
Quietly the fog descended over the hills,
So you learn to toil, and it soon became drudgery.
Loaded is laughter, tinge by melancholy.
Here and there, now and then,
One taste of glory,
One mouthful of sky.
The heart is indeed a lonely hunter,
For the one that walks besides you is your shadow,
Awaiting the break of dawn, longing for my aurora.
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