When I sit and think of my childhood,
I think of my parents that I would.
Of all the both bad and good times,
And of all the nursery rhymes.
I wonder how they put up with me,
I wasn't very good yet they let me be.
I want to tell them thank you,
And I love you, it doesn't seem to do.
How do you tell them they are the greatest,
I make up by telling them the latest.
The time I spent with them isn't enough,
I try and act like I'm very tough.
The truth is I miss my mother and father,
Any my childhood is getting away farther.
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Comments about this poem (Childhood by Joan Neph )
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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