an age that passed out

enjoy remembering sweet childhood

On paths that still count the blessings,
with flowers scent and years refreshing.
When everything was happy and gay,
sweet are the memories but gone are those days.
Remembering the age of blessings afar,
is it not like counting stars?
Sleeping tucked in mother's arm,
felt like none could cause any harm,
making paper boats was sure success,
and watching them sail was joy in excess.
But  different from dreams, the real world hails,
where now and then only duty prevails,
remembering that lovely age again,
feels like counting stars in the rain.
One sits and wonders about,
how good was"the age that passed out".