An oft forgot’n pattern, a print of a dead soul,
Of when birds came out, ‘nd suns danced
Came a nascent melody that sparked and flitter’d
And ignited the happy alleys better fenced
I paused and wondered, where I had err’d.
An unrequited recollection, to embrace, an Orphean tragedy.
There, on steps which echoed my memories,
A simmering rejoice at censored scents of candy floss
I mumbled with the ardor of first forgotten loves
I saw washed-out memories of head dirt boys,
And afternoons in the prairies when we hunted doves
I awoke from the lapse in comedy.
Childhood came and went, now to assume a pitiable role
And pretend that we are not furnished of forgotten glories.
