I think the writing on the wall explains it well;
The story of my life.
Words of laughter, learning and development.
But nothing of the strife.
Some things are not worth dwelling upon,
It's better we just forget.
This story is worth remembering though,
So I want you to know how it was set.
There are four others, besides myself,
In our little childhood crowd.
Even though one left early,
To rest upon a cloud.
We grew up as others did,
Making mud-pies in the yard.
And if any of us felt any way unsafe,
We were each other's guard.
We all have our different versions of things,
Our perspectives from our own side.
And when it all fades away,
We must take it in our stride.
Our days are moving forward,
Our childhoods are slipping away.
But in case we begin to lose them forever,
I want to collect them all today.
I couldn't imagine forgetting the mud-pies,
Or seeing Prince somersault in the wind.
Or the way ye all looked,
As ye happily, posed and grinned.
On rare occasions I remember details,
That meant little to us then.
Like our bad taste of fashion,
And the ways we used to hold a pen.
Oh and we can't forget the nicknames,
That reflected who we are.
Or the times we all spent in the garden:
The setting for Our Star.
We can't forget our old bedroom,
The place we learned to share.
Nor can we ever forget the feeling,
Of having each other there.
What prompted this, is a single photograph,
I found inside a book.
Astounded I was to find it there,
And see how young we looked.
All four of us are gathered in a group,
Posing for the camera shot.
We look the picture of perfection,
Even Prince got caught.
The weather was still and warm,
We sat lovingly, dressed in our casual wear.
Little did I know it at the time,
But my utopia in life, is there.
Copyright © All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty
