The sunlight spills from autumn skies
Upon the leaves of burnished gold;
It wakens memories within,
Those mem’ries of so long ago.

Upon the leaves of burnished gold
Once, happily, she ran and played,
Then she’d stop and, with her crayons,
Rub tracings on a sheet of white

It wakens memories within,
When she felt wanted, safe, and loved,
Before the evil claimed her soul,
And she could be a child no more.

Those mem’ries of so long ago
Still haunt the woman she became;
Her hair of gold now turned to white,
She searches still, the child to find.

~© Linda E. Newman ~
All rights reserved.
Used with permission
Read more of Linda's poetry  HERE