A hidden grove,
Of my phantasmal dreams,
Reflecting cherished memories,
Of a time long passed.
These bittersweet pangs,
Ephemeral nostalgia.
Like a vintage camera,
Through its hazy lens,
Ethereal light saturates
My wooded garden,
A shaded canopy,
Of wise, gnarled oaks.
Sunlit rays radiate,
Through translucent canopy foliage,
Creating a lustrous reflection,
Of verdant luminescence,
Over a glistening, rippled pond,
And my garden’s soft, mossy ground.
Euphoric memories.
Children’s laughter echoing,
Through the stick-crafted forts,
Of my childhood, my haven.
They house vibrant, glass treasures,
And lush floral artworks we arranged.
Wading in pebble-lined creeks,
Whimsically blowing iridescent bubbles,
Biking to strawberry-strewn meadows,
All under the vivid blue sky,
Abounding with billowing white clouds.
A fuzzy numbness emanates.
Beyond this nostalgic sanctuary,
The valiant endure the unwritten reality,
But I live among the craven.
Instead I reminisce within my fantasy,
Hidden in this wistful fable,
To daydream of serene strawberry fields.
