C. P. Sharma
Memories of childhood prattle sweet,
Strange, funny utterances incomplete;
Toddling walk on the faltering feet,
Falling down, the same to repeat.
The fondly fight among the siblings,
Pulling one another's strings,
Shielding us to mom we cling,
Affectionately she sweet kisses flings.
Later through sweet sour we wade,
Asking mom for sweet lemonade;
Never bothered about sun and shade,
All the day with friends we played.
When came back in game hurt,
With all sort of soil on shirt;
Silently and stealthily came in home
Dad's scolding on us large loom.
Passing away of grandpas
Of great grief it was a cause,
Of saving grace they were straws,
That day our grief we couldn't gauze.
The memories of childhood sweet or sour,
Make a person bloom as crimson flower;
When I think of the affectionate bower,
I feel as fresh as if I just had a shower.
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