LOOKING BACK by Mary Ellen Stelling

There is an old house
On a quiet street,
Where my childhood and I
Frequently meet,
As the lights come on
And the shadows fall,
And mothers in doorways
To their youngsters call.

I stand for a moment,
In sweet reverie,
Lost in the twilight
Where none may see
As the tears overflow
And, in dreams, I review
Those sweet yesteryears
And the floks I once knew.