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Childhood

by Sheila Jeffreys © 2016

Oh to be a child again where work was but to find a friend,
Where bluebells scent filled the air and life was lived without a care
But childhood is not what it may seem - we awake from it like a fleeting dream;
And life goes on and we grow old - and go back to childhood - or so Im told.
Like an old man child, awaiting death, to welcome that last that final breath;
Although he is but a child again, his body aches with aged pain,
his mind still quick - his body slow time passes him by he has nowhere to go
This shell of a body wrinkled with age - he no longer wants to be locked in lifes cage
He awaits his release, his destiny, to shake off lifes shackles, once again to be free

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Click Here to contact Sheila Jeffreys to request permission to use this poem.