I daydreamed a childhood,
In my mind it exists,
Reality doesn’t matter,
For I have it all figured.
White picket fence home,
With grass to skip upon,
Pink drapes on my window,
From it to peer outside.
Gardens with daisies,
And bluebells and lilies
Paths to hidden cozies,
And tree-houses on top.
Picture perfect the happiness,
And, days bright and slow,
Paradise appears in paper,
But none has seen it, at all.
Ah, the perfect childhoold. You are correct, "none has seen it, at all." Thanks for sharing with us.
ReplyDeleteThere is no perfect life or perfect childhood but some have more contentment if not happiness and love than others.
ReplyDeleteThere's a softness about this that's quite touching, Anya.
ReplyDelete