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Whenever,

my childhood memories, 

take me home, 

I will never be alone.



I go back,  

to when I was small, 

in grandfather's backyard, 

with a ball. 


A tree house as tall as the sky,

he built for me, 

amongst the birds,

In an aspen up high. 


In the shadow of moon's light,

I placed fireflies inside a jar,

to light the night, 

beneath God's stars.


All the birds amongst the trees,

I did not hear,

a single peep,

they had all fallen fast asleep.


Beneath the moon,

I drifted away,

whilst counting the horns, 

on some dancing sheep.


I would awake,

to another blue sky,

the birds were all singing,

As my eyes opened wide.

 
I loved to swing, 

all day long,

while helping the birds,

write their songs.


So beautiful and free,

were the sounds,

never did,

they sing off key.
 

I remember the sweet smell,

on my puppies breath, 

her warm tongue,

it tickled me, almost to death.


The branches that,

she  loved to fetch,

they all fell,

from my beautiful tree.


A big red balloon,

that I let go amongst the trees,

I chased it down,

and scraped my knees.


Grandmother kissed my wounds and excuses,

and said "oh dear',"

"my sweet child you've nothing to fear,

for life is full of scrapes and bruises.


"The ones that heal,

will come from the heart,

they are the ones,

that one so chooses."


I learned so much from my grandmother's words,

as I grew up my pain affords,

for the sake of,

life's sharpened sword.


I still hear her encouraging words,

in all the birds among the trees,

whenever something goes wrong,

I hear birds singing Grandmother's song.


And like her heart,

that was never cruel,

aren't the trees,

sounding nice and full?

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