A Fleeting Thing

I think about those days of innocence back . . . when I was young I played for hours in mom's garden with my pets among her pretty flowers and bird songs drifting the world had not touched me yet I had no scars on my soul no pain in my heart no nightmares haunted my dreams I heard no whispers calling me I loved my dolls teddy bears and books and my room at the top of the stairs in our old home the wood floors where I would slide and the claw foot tub I knew nothing of cruelty war was not even a word yet I was loved and I loved too . . . and that was enough is that why those years are so cherished so beautifully recalled but innocence is gone for it is a fleeting thing . . .