CHILDHOOD - A LOST CREST

Years ago, down the Ganges plane 
I ran
ran to those cuddling hands
their warmth still afresh...
And in them I sank, no worries ahead.

Down the lane, as many have bane
A man born a child has to grow
He grows in thoughts and stature still,
He forgets it as  god's prank.

The swing still sits where it did, 
for me an old mare
But to a child that age, she is still some pony                 

growing herself beautiful hair.    
  
So, my dear lets bring afresh 
those innocent lines of life
the greatest of our life's hill-
childhood - a lost crest...