The ChildHood Memories Of An Elderly Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

The Childhood Memories Of An Elderly Man.

Strolling the park, this oh so familiar place,
I remember the smells, the scents, her face.
These photographs in my hand tell the stories,
But I lived them, in all their glories.
You could not believe the changes here,
So much has passed throughout the years.

Looking around I see the children play,
I spot the tree beneath which she used to lay.
Such a wonderful woman was my mother,
Given the chance I could never wish for another.
This memory in my hand of a copper haired boy,
Crying because he lost his toy.
My mothers arms wrapped lovingly around me,
The expression in her face was not hard to see.

I was young then and so immature,
But this next picture shows so much more.
My hair is darker and I'd grown just a few inches,
I was working with my father on his boat with the winches.
She sky was grey that day, I remember clearly.
My mother had not joined us from feeling too weary.
Such joys I had that day with him,
If only I had known how to swim.

The next is my birthday, a magnificent day,
My mother and father had taken me away.
The beach was cold that time of year,
But none of us cared so long as we were near.
Im clutching a balloon sitting on my fathers shoulders,
My mother stays young as my father looks older.
We lost him that year after an accident at sea,
But I knew in my heart that he remained with me.

Another birthday, this one two years taller,
I seemed to be growing while mother got smaller.
Beside her I stood dressed in fine clothes,
Looking smart and well presented as we wandered up the roads.
She took me for dinner that day, a wonderful italian place,
What I would give to see that smile on her face.
I was getting older now and soon would move out,
My mother was sad but never would shout.

I am much older now and wiser too,
The children now days all seem untrue.
Their bad moods and attitudes stink,
I'd sit and wonder "What would mother think?"
She died many years ago deep in her sleep,
Id sit for days and do nothing but weep.
But I know shes happy up there with my father.
Those days were glorious, because we spent them together.

Submitted: February 11, 2013

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Thank you for your comment I do so enjoy hearing that people enjoy my work. Yes indeed it was deliberate. It was supposed to stand out as a strong emotion in the poem.

Mon, February 11th, 2013 10:57pm

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