I still feel a strong touch of magic, When I’m lying warm in my bed. Drowsily hearing the drumming, of rain … on the roof overhead.
Always it stirs up the memories, I hope I will never forget. Of a small boy, safe and secure, Looking out into the wet.
My world was warm and so peaceful. And my dreams would whisk me away, To a land of my very own making, and I wish I could go back today.
A place that was not made for sharing, A wonderful world of my own, where life was filled with adventure, with sadness … and pain never known.
Where the outside world couldn’t touch me. Where nothing could shatter my life. Peace that flowed soft and healing.
A haven from troubles and strife. Here was a quiet contentment, I could almost reach out and hold. While beyond my window were raindrops, and the world … unfriendly … and cold. Wrapped in my mantle of safety.
I’d look at the grey weeping skies. Watching the rain with wonder. With special dreams in my eyes. For out there was unrest and trouble, and problems I’d soon have to face.
So I’d burrow deep down in the blanket, and think of my own special place. And I still get that wonderful feeling, although a lifetime has gone. As I lie in drowsy contentment, Letting the memories flow on.
From the outside world, wet and dreary, my thoughts I hold firmly aloof, and I close my eyes very tightly. As I listen to the rain on the roof.