We were moving all our things 
Books, shelves, clothes, 
What you heard was hums and sings 
It was in those moments
I only realized 
What we couldn’t bring. 

It appeared outside the house
Among piles of rock 
And sidewalk chalk,
It surely was never dim. 
And to me,
A young one, 
It always was a whim.

I stood there day to day
Fascinated by its beauty
Deepened into the array 
The rain slid from its pane 
I hoped 
I prayed
It would always remain. 

The months and years fell past 
There truly was never a 
Real last 
I dreamed to have it round my neck 
Or in my hands for my new treks.

It comes back every now and again
A reminder 
A glimpse
At how
I was then.