A house, pale yellow and worn,
faces the clouds and the eye of the storm

Chimes, clinking and ringing,
to the soft wind that sings when it blows

A carnival, bright and quite cheery,
a celebration we go to one night of the year

Pots, banging and clanging
like a line of bad drummers there in our kitchen

A bike, bright blue and dirty white
evolves over time from a little old trike

Bells, joyfully chiming
from the lonely church tower just down the road

Yellow apples, stored in a bin
created sweet cider for all of our kin

Melodies, of sadness or joy,
Wrap these memories like a Christmas toy

A girl, wistful and nostalgic
thinks of the past as she writes a poem