It is the quite longing in the heart of a man, to dwell in peace with the woman who bore him
To know her not only as a mother but as a sanctuary
There is a sacredness to her voice when it finds you in the middle of a weary week
Calling not for news but to remind you that you are remembered in her prayers, that heaven hears your name because she has whispered it there, and if fortune has smiled upon you, still you are counted among those who receive gifts
From the soil, bananas ripe with sun, avocadoes softened by rain arrowroot pulled from the earth with care, you know that these are not mere offsprings of food, they are sacraments the breath of the village travels with them
In every bite, the wings once passed through childhood trees returned to your lungs, you chew slowly knowing your mother is a fortress of 'GRACE' quietly standing watching over the life she once carried.
Little boy, dirty knees,
kite floating in the breeze
Findings frogs, tadpoles too,
fall in water, soaked right through
Lolly stick race, down the stream,
school apple pie and shaving cream
In bakers shop, poke the cakes,
build new bike, forget the brakes
Eat strawberries, then put jars back,
painting Grandads tomatoes black
Scrumping apples, make a raft,
old man on the corner completely daft
Pinching golf balls from the club,
arrowroot biscuits outside the pub
Playtime at school, kiss chase today,
please Zena this time dont run away
Break fireworks up to make a bang,
when I am 10 I'll have a gang
Must get home its cubs tonight,
look theres a bundle, lets watch the fight
Gang house built up in the trees,
quick in the bomb crater before the farmer sees
Books on skates, knock down ginger too,
never bored, lots to do
Memo biscuits, tanner a pack,
see the brush salesman, look mum hes black
Slide down bannisters, jump from the ledge,
not on the path, just close to the edge
Childhood memories will never cease,
the mind grows old, the dreams wont ease
One memory I'll have right to the end,
Chip the Alsatian, my childhood friend
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