Begotten Childhood Poem by Shanika marini Paul

Yester year, When I was just a blooming bud: ready to be the praise of a verse in a song.
Memories, doth seem to seek it's place; in my childhood's warm embrace

A damsel, yet, not ripe enough of womanhood..
smileth, did I, wondering why? Life seemed so free, so full of innocent cheer..

We played, with my siblings equally running wild,
With the feast of winds giving wing to fly.
School attended, home work done, the wicked weapon of my mother's discipline smiling in it's corner,
As if though it awaited the strikes of discipline my mother administered.

Little did we the four rioters realize,
It was her way she thought was right..
Yet, tis we who still found time
Completing our household chores on time.
To run wild with nature, the setting sun, refusing to retrieve and make way for Diana the queen of the night.

Played, did we, with glee
With the neighbourhood friends, in ease.
Oh! but, time to retrieve, back to our solitude of a discipline shield,
Yet, when father returns, the days mess forgotten,
Little angels we pretend,
Conspirating against my mother's effortless serve, of our riots of the day.

Today, I smile on the happy memories. With a nod, of respect for my mother's lead.
Hail! To chilhood's golden beam