Film flipped by.
Fuzzy pictures recounted days gone.
It fled, just like me, and the film.
Together, the film and I remembered.
We played in the kitchen
with a frying pan and wooden spoons,
banging drum.
We adventured in the yard
with lions who spoke and magical witches.
Hours where time waltzed by,
I was Peter Pan and no one could stop
my maniacal plans.
Just me and my mother's quiet camera.
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