There’s rings and blocks and crayon wax
And books and toys and balls and jacks
These all are part of children’s wares
Like cribs and quilts and rocking chairs.
How sweet it is to watch the young
Begin their lives with hope unsung
Their childish glee and joyful songs
Fill youthful days where love belongs.
I miss these years as I grow old
And wish I knew those stories told
When I was just about their size
With curly hair and blue green eyes.
I’d be so glad though it’s too late
Next stop for me, lifes golden gate.
Claire V. Bogdanos 