A Toddler's Tales of Toddler Days

When I visit the past of my youth,
Those concrete lanes of concrete truth,
I feel the present slip away,
And though requested refuses to stay.
I wake recalling songs I adore,
That splash about daily upon the floors,
Of my teeming memories abrimful,
With nostalgia, innocent and sinful.
I remember my toddler plays,
Around the house with cups and trays.
I remember those lullabys,
Sung to me with sleepy sighs.
They fiddled with my senses young,
Mingling with many words unsung.
I remember the cityscape,
And my desperation to escape,
To places where the sky is seen,
A stretching dome or a canvass screen;
Where trees do russle to the passing air,
And mutter words to the flowers fair;
Where the gnarling binds itself,
To make a home for a crazy elf.
I remember picking some scarlet seeds;
Of some stately tree or wild weeds,
To necklace my throat and my little wrists,
And to hold the rest in my tiny fists.
I remember trying to match my wits,
And winning at times in snatches and bits,
Against an elder who with a grin,
Would ten mellow and let me win.
I remember those childhood days,
Of simple dreams and simple ways.
Is there no path or hidden alley,
That would walk me back to that valley,
Where life was healthy and tinted pink,
And happiest ever or so think.