My next poem:

I still can recall
The glorious times of old
When summers weren’t scorching
And winters barely cold.

When spring dawned sprightly,
And monsoon marched mighty,
When rains rained rapture,
In the hearts of the carefree.

When I could still read
Books boundless in number,
When I could write poems
With all the skill I’d muster.

When drowning in delights
Of a transient childhood
Ignited not ire, but pleasure-
As I attain adulthood,

I still do recall
Memories of past mischief
With haunting nostalgia,
And bedeviling grief.

– The Forgers of Fantasy

For more such poems,refer The Forgers of Fantasy