Celluloid Poem by Mark Heathcote

Starting with every childish caper
One day, sitting back in your rocking chair.
Skin and bones like crinkled crepe paper
We'll remember our lives spent, its full share.
Changing like -caterpillar's amorphous
Catching toads and newts' black tadpoles.
From red, white, and gold carousel horses
Attached to their shiny brass poles.
From blowing bubbles on holidays,
From climbing trees to that first true kiss,
We'll remember all our friends, our protégés.
Those dreamy days we spent in the last few years.
Hauntingly, they'll flood back even with dementia.
As the rocker leans back and forwards,
It doesn't matter if you're some worsening amnesiac.
It's been a good day; there are no mourners.
Sure, seesaws have a pivotal point.
After golden memories, turn celluloid.