foster joy Poetry real song.

My Toy Dad And Mom.

As a young girl I remember

playing  with toys of timber

I had toys of Dad and Mom

named the Dad as Tom

he stood tall  and straight

wore not a shirt so bright

dressed in colours somber

looked also very sober.

The mother looked so cherubic

was exuberant and  very energetic

her attire was very fanciful

red and yellow  checks wonderful

they were my playmates for long

I rushed to them with a song

impregnate with mirth and joy

I trotted to them rather coy

never thought them to be a toy

share with them my dilemma and plight

if I saw the real ones in sight

dashed away in a swift flight

my doll parents listened to me

shared my sorrow and glee

they still remain with me as a treasure

I return to them  that being a  regular feature

my own parents are dead and gone

mymarapachi foster ones would remain even after I am gone.


Actions Age Experience Lesson Life Lost Theory thoughts

The Lost Days

Lost is   days of youth.

Lost is  days of mirth.

Lost is  days of joy.

Lost is  days of toy.

Lost is days of evolution.

Lost is  days of  the revolution.

Lost is days of enthusiasm.

Lost is days of experiences awesome.

Lost is  days of adaptability.

Lost is  days of flexibility.

Lost is  days of attraction.

Lost is  days of distractions.

Lost is days and years.

As we lose ourselves in tears.