Lost Nonage

I look for you
under the apple boughs
Laden with blushing pink blossoms.
I search in the orchard amid the trees
of orange, keno and sweet lime.
Where are you? I wonder.
Where’d you vanish?

The empty swing,
The merry-go-round, and
the see-saw is bare; vacantly
beckoning me, their souls bereft of joy.
No, they do not mock me, but they 
remind of time that passed
all too swiftly.

Oh, what happened?
Why’d you flee, my nonage?
What you left behind are the bare
bones of my childhood and the skeleton
of regret that creaks of a life
that I didn’t dream or seek
but surely got. 

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