Childhood

 

A bright golden sun beaming on a youthful face

Fingers stained with assortments of colors

The rusted swings creaking up and down

And the mothers calling their children from afar

The mourning doves whistle at dawn and the pigeons call during the day

Cherish these fleeting moments that will soon be erased

When the sun finally goes down and the clouds emerge

As the doves migrate and the swings come to a halt

And the boulders of life pile onto our shoulders

Childhood still echoes from the distance as life truly begins

​

Gabriella Bruce