When I was eight, many years ago, I had a plan to find happiness and things I adore.

I sit here alone and wonder why, one day we are born, and another day we die.

When you are little, you fight and we play, get up to mischief, and then go to bed after prayer.

From one to ten, life was simple- just school, friends, and building a den.

After that, you start growing tall; finally, finally, I can get over that wall.

I never needed money at all, not until my mum went on the Dole.

As you grow up, you want more cash; I only wish my mum had a stash.

You get a job and work all day; is it really worth that little pay?

At twenty-five, you find your spouse, and in the same year, you move into a house.

At thirty-five, you split in two, remembering what your mother said, came true.

I don’t know why life is this way, but it’s good to know we live the same way.

And now, at thirty-eight, I find myself yearning, hoping, wishing to return to the carefree days of being eight.