Softly falls the snow, as school days near their end,
A year has passed—so swift, it’s hard to comprehend.
The breeze was sweet, the heat was a different tale,
Like yesterday, when summer breaks seemed infinite, my friend.
The aroma on stove, orange flames that softly crack,
Bread surrounds the room as smoke winds its track.
The unyielding chill through floorboards creeping,
And mothball-scented blankets for warmth we’d stack.
Those days had spirit, slow to come, quick to fly,
A lotto win, even a bit, could lift spirits high.
Days’ worth grew, and they will, as time says farewell,
Now even bingo leaves no spark in the eye.
What of that child, whose wish was to grow and grow?
Time is the boss; now see how wide the world can sprawl.
It shuts out feeling, one year folding into the next,
Turning thirty now, as if through an unspoken call.
Wishes, like candles blown out, fill the air with grace,
And others queue their dreams, a never-ending race.
Feasting done, gifts exchanged, though deep down,
Some yearn not for love, but for wealth’s embrace.
First, it was warmth; family, tangerine, chestnuts in glow,
Young ones question: “Where’s my beloved? Don’t you know?”
The new year, stingy as ever, left dreams brittle, bare,
Why the long face? Did the lottery not answer your prayer?
Wait, don’t leave! Stories should end with joy, not regret,
Though the time has come to voice what was long unmet.
The child grew, the elder soured, venting captured storm,
Desires abide, though some drift, defying all the threat.
Perhaps too grand, too quaint, or absurdly profound,
Each clings to a branch, roots firm in their own ground.
Human we are, with dreams we persistently endure,
Recall the past; face the future, as slumber pulls you sound.
Photo by Nikhita Singhal on Unsplash
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