Vapours of the ember, nights of a cold December,
Push me into slumber, nothing to remember.
A thorough inspection, deliberate introspection,
A memoir collection, to rekindle affection.
Keys on the hooks, just where no one looks,
Bills in the books, where Lord Tolkien cooks,
banded bangled wrist, pen bleeding in the fist,
a week long Playlist, to wipe the clock’s mist.
What to teach the kids? Who asks and who bids?
Where are the glass lids? How to control aphids?
The world fades white, too bright a light,
Hear my muted plight? Come help me fight.
All that I now can recall, a young and a lively fall,
Spring Fair's game stall, shooting darts at a doll.
It's the only life I see, in this world I’d love to flee,
The only moment I was free, a flash and I still glee.
A second or a week, when I was tense and meek,
Too love-shy to speak, That is all I wish to seek.