#2819-Nostalgia

Around Easter,

The trees in our neighborhood,

Begin to turn green.

Fresh blooming leaves,

Welcoming a new season,

To play and dream.

Yet Easter,

Is not everywhere known.

At least,

Not where I was born.

That was many years ago,

When mysteries,

Were waiting to unfold.

Now I look back,

Through different eyes,

In a world I call my own,

With memories and traditions,

Buried inside,

A wandering little boy.