They have Left Home

Thinking back of my early school days

It would always remind me of my mother’s scolding

When she tried to arise me from my folding

Never forgetting the pain of those wee hours

I still loathe the memories as they strike me now

But in the moments of morning agony

There was always hidden a beautiful story.

As I would wake up from my kip

I remember waking up to the repetitive notes.

The melodic rhythm collided in one

 And became a mesmeric symphony on its own

The purling and tweedles of those little beings

While they depart from their home to find some stuffing

Would always make me happy and make me weave a story.

As I listened to the harmony intently

While I get ready to leave my dwelling

I always wondered if I am too a little birdie

While my mother makes for a bigger one

And my father for the biggest of the nest?

But now it’s been long

Since those days are gone

I am no more a little birdie of our nest

And those sparrows don’t sing to me in this adult life’s recklessness

The home still remains there

But several members of our household

Have vanished constructing that hole

A hole in the memories, for I still crave to wake up to that enticing delightful score

That will never be repeated

To remind me of the beautiful memories of my childhood home.