Yesteryear, I flowed
Into the soil of my mother,
Like an injection through the skin;
I roamed about in circle
To stop her monthly cycle
Before I sprouted out a stem.

In days agone,
I almost lost my hair to the tray,
That sit on my head like leaf on trees;
A tray filled with fried fishes.
As I walked the street,
Dust would cloud my feet,
But now, I've grown a little,
Tray era is now -- a train of dress.

In other days buried long ago,
I used to be a Vulture,
Who feeds on others' art
To contain my hunger for writing.
But now, I'm a beast whose through study,
I feast on words to fend myself.

I was a stoic, a stubborn boy
In school days gone now.
Whose skin, a night without moon
And clothes -- the cloud at night.
But now, I am the ray of sun
That peeps through the curtains of life.

Gone are those days,
I used to be a clueless lad
Who mar words for fun.
Literature found me
And turned me into a gardener
Who wreathes words on the sheet.

Josh Wealth Pampam ©