A breeze blows through my hair,
Under the cement canopy;
Lying there for me to grasp,
Stones. Like those ones from my past.
I loved those cool, smooth stones
At building 123.
Somehow they always amazed me.
Then I would enter the building
And I remember the air.
The peculiar elevator smell all throughout.
The stairs, I remember the stairs.
I loved to run up them,
But my mom liked the elevator.
Most times we would use the elevator,
But sometimes I'd race her up or down the stairs.
Now, I sit here waiting to be picked-up
And while I am wait, I look at the stones,
And while I look at the stones, I remember building 123,
And while I remember 123, I think of stones, stairs and elevator rides.
While remembering stones, stairs and elevators, I pick up a smooth, cool stone,
And put it in my pocket.
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