THE CHILD AND THE DAME
She searches through the toys to free the past
from cells of cupboards, cleans the dust and dirt;
a doll without her eyelids stares at her,
there lies a pencil case, its contents gone,
once black and white, now yellow, photographs–
the faded pictures of a cat, long dead;
her bedtime friend till mama chased it out.
Although these toys once filled her little world,
the path to bygone days is barred and locked;
tomorrow whispers, “Leave those days behind.”
The seasons fly, the child is now a dame;
her life is busy; children, jobs and chores–
she works for bread and things, the cream of life.
At times her hand will hold a mouse to reach
another stage, to act another part,
for , lost among the nappies, milk and toys,
she seldom writes of late, but reads old rhymes
for fun; the household crowds both heart and mind.
What joy to see them run and play and laugh
and hand in hand they walk across life’s street.