When I was a young girl of four years old,
The beach cottage I lived in seemed to loom:
June suns today turn my skin lustrous gold,
Driving with you, hood down, hot afternoon:
Past the tiny house, a new family lives,
That old home is stuffed full of memories:
Childhood is the precious gift that time gives,
You slowly park the car, remove the keys;
The beach smells of French fries and of ice cream,
I see familiar places from my youth:
Those days, years ago, seem now like a dream,
You pay for pictures in a photo booth;
And I think, on this fine day in my prime:
“Oh, but if I could travel back in time.”