The door, jammed with rust,
Books on shelves gathered dust.
Cobwebs hung from the ceiling,
Plaster was fast peeling.
The bed, bought for a song,
Was only three feet long.
On it, a red teddy bear lay,
Hugged from night till day.
The wall had a comic character,
Lovingly drawn by a father.
This sloppy work he was teased,
For he was no artist.
At a corner, sat Santa Claus,
Wearing hand-painted clogs,
Made of simple cotton,
Was left behind, forgotten.
*Photo credit: Pixabay from Pexels
From the Heart
Childhood Revisited
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emily2u
Malaysian based in Ipoh trying to learn about the cryptocurrency space.
From the Heart
Sharing my poetry, Haiku and other heartfelt thoughts.
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