The weary traveler stops to take a rest

Has it been days, or years?
He had almost forgotten what he was looking for But it’s almost impossible to forget
The place called Memory Lane.

When he was a boy his mother took him there, took him to see Memory Lane.
It wasn’t his, of course,
You have to find your own lane.

His mother’s lane was beautiful.
The smell of freshly baked pastries from France, Crimson roses of Valentine’s Day.
The street performer by the boombox,
And the sound of creaky doors at midnight.

That was the only time he saw a lane. He grew up, but he couldn’t forget the Sheer beauty of Memory Lane.

As the traveler rested, he began to think. He thought about his childhood.
He walked down his own lane, finally realizing That it was here all along.

The warm smile of his mother,
The stray cat meowing at his doorstep,
The itch of the Christmas sweater from Grandma. All the moments from
His life came flooding back.

The lady with her dog at the coffee shop, High school graduation,
His mother’s funeral.
He remembered the highs and lows The friends. The enemies.
The living. The deceased.
Every little thought,
Every little moment,
Every little person,
He remembered it all.

And he cried.