I smelled the stench of vegetables, dirt, and exhaust;
As I walked down the street;
And also the destitute people with that gleam in their eyes
Vying to sell their wares;
Even now that dwells upon me;
Although I was but seven

I tasted the cold, crisp air;
Nipping at our skin
While laughter rang like bells;
Our eyes bright with the energy of a lifetime;
Suddenly ageless, as we darted around the snow;
A crystal clear memory, although I was but seven

I felt the scorched asphalt, charring my bare feet;
As I run down the street to the park
Then the cool, soft grass, while drinking lemonade and listening the birds call;
When the soft tinkle of bells lured me to sleep
And the last thing I remember was the soothing voice of my mother

And although I was but seven, some things will never fade;
You may be seven or seventy-seven, but precious things will always stay
Cherish what you have and had, and hope for the best
Because when you get older, you may not be as blessed