Walk down the memory lane
I bloomed like a flower in spring though more bashful than before
On lookers knew I would be a beautiful young girl.
Mother longed for the days her two tiny dolls would turn to full grown women
Last night as I looked at my elder sister with her palmed hair a contrast to the clean shaven of our childhood, I would not help but take a walk down our memory lane.
Me, who once was tall and ‘boyish’ now all prim and proper like an English maiden and her all fair and light as an English rose.
I, who once staggered without rhythm, now sway gracefully and carefully like a ballerina,
Smooth and elegant, the stagger has turned balletic.
I have acquired some of the elegance and politeness of a lady over time no longer hasty and banal.
Watched my flowers bloom into lovely and attractive features. Time flies, I have thought many a time however, it has not withered the maiden’s playful nature.
The memories run on like leaves being chased by the wind however lavish.
I won’t because too many walks down the memory lane make one miss more of the here and there.