A quaint summer comes to my mind,

As I recall that particular book.

Swing set of my balcony faced,

A small cafe with a homely look.

I frequented it every now and then,

To finish what I had started before.

My book of stories from every end,

And coffee that I always wanted more.

Times were tough back in those days,

Money was hard and work was seldom.

Making do with my rustic reading glass,

I typed what my imagination could fathom.

Decades have passed and here I am,

Writing just as I did before.

What keeps us humble is our past.

Time when I used to sleep on the floor.

Always treasure those who stayed,

Throughout your quest with highs and lows.

For me it was my rustic reading glass, now yours.

Wear to see what it shows.