When I Was A Kid
I still remember that cradle of wood,
which was not perfect but ya it was good.
The memories of hymns my mother used to sing,
And I used to fly in the fairy land gliding my wings.
Running on knees on the vast ground,
and supposing that earth if flat and not so round.
The love the care I got from my 'PA',
was as magical as the story of 'GLA'.