Like wind chimes dangling from an old oak tree,

the melody of our childhood rings in my memory.

A gentle breeze prompts a soft chime,

and it carries me back to a more tender time.

I can still smell the scent drafting from our old kitchen,

as we waited, anticipating what Mama was fixing.

I can still hear shouts of childish laughter,

young voices reading tales of a happily-ever-after.

I can still see dirty little hands and feet at play,

making the most of a hot summer day.

I can still taste that front porch flavor,

of homemade ice cream we used to savor.

I can still feel the warmth of quilts on a winter’s night,

after Mama tucked us in snug and tight.

Those old wind chimes have grown rusty now,

but the music of memories still ring clear somehow.

I hope their melody continues to take you back there,

to those old childhood memories that we share.