“A poem about my childhood”

Beneath a sycamore, summer spread wide—  
Shoelaces tangled, grass stains my pride,  
A threadbare swing creaked hope in the breeze,  
Chasing the daylight with scabbed, muddy knees.

The world smelled of chalk, ripe peaches and sun,  
Of skipping rope rhythms, barefoot on the run,  
A pocket of marbles, treasures unclaimed,  
Secret forts hidden, wild kingdoms unnamed.

Mother’s sweet laughter from windows aglow,  
The comfort of pancakes and winters of snow,  
A lantern of fireflies trapped in a jar,  
The hush of my dreaming was never too far.

On autumn-warmed sidewalks I traveled for miles,  
Counting the cracks with impossible smiles,  
Paper boats sailing through puddles of rain,  
Umbrella parades and no hint of pain.

Then, twilight would gather me up in its arms,  
Soft lullabies guiding me far from all harms—  
A patchwork of memories, woven and spun,  
My childhood, a story the world had begun.

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