In a dusty old attic I sit with an old tape player;
Digging memories off the stacks layer by layer,
And in a box colored by a child's careless hand,
Was a pile of pictures taken in a promise land.
Little fictional animals and a make believe world -
Nothing meant more to that happy little girl,
And she colored in the sky so wonderful and blue;
With crayola raindrops pouring down onto you.
Freckled faces and finger puppets; a flash in time,
With a grassy surface colored in bright as lime,
Her messy Amazon replica was her only bliss,
And she smiled as she said: "Enter the Circus!"
Bright blue eyes and a heart of plated Gold;
Were hidden in the picture that I sat down to hold,
And the world once seemed so small to me,
When all that I knew was a colored mediocrity.
But I listen to these old circus songs with great poise;
Taking me back to a time when cooties belonged to boys,
And a scratched up knee was way easier to repair;
Than a broken heart beating on in pathetic despair.
