Nostalgia
whipping window glass covered with dew,
I perched to get a panoramic view.
Meadow in front is still in shape,
Resuming to become place of escape.
Calling my name all these years,
Heard it when I sharpened my ears.
As Petrichor acted like time machine,
Bringing back the memories of teen.
The old tree I sheltered in hide and seek,
Piece of beauty when youth was in peak.
When we were in woods a bit deep,
In obscurity what must be here to creep.
Returning home with promise to return,
To inquire over what is left to learn.
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