My mind my dome!

(Poetry on Time) In the realm of time's great paradox, Where past and present interlock, I find myself in a quandary deep, Yearning for some memories I still keep. Oh, how I long for days of yore, When laughter echoed, carefree galore, But alas, they're all gone, never ever to return, A lesson learned, a bitter sweet truth to discern. No time machine can whisk me away, To a bygone era, in disarray, For the universe forbids such flight, To alter history, a forbidden plight. No Rip Van Winkle, I shall not sleep, And wake to changes, the world's secrets keep, Nor Kumbhakaran i am, slumbering in time's embrace, Awakening in a past, lost in space. But fear not, i say to myself, for in my heart, I hold those vivid memories, a precious art, The dolls, the frocks, those kindergarten friends & the simpler days, Forever cherished, in my memory's haze. Adventures I always seek, in realms & places unknown, Where my imagination's seeds are sow

I sat nervously, fiddling with a needle. Dwelling on matters that have essence  beyond all this fiddle. Pondering no sword can play wheedle with a needle.  Since It's the only machine with a treadle.   I sew my ballroom dress under a candle.  Boring a hole between with a wimble.  Sewing the hemline with thread and needle. Holding the seam together despite all the struggle. Keeping my finger's on the  material. Spinning it's handle with trouble.  I realize it's time to replace the needle. As I sit throughout night sewing with thread and needle.  I could hear the morning roosters crowing.  Pricking up my ears  to my cows braying.  Along with my restless beagle too baying.  With that heavenly scent of freshly baked bagel.  Licking my  toes   in company of my feet h ere yawns my beagle.  With Floppy flapping ears and sagging jaws my naughty beagle. I sat with my scissors and thimble.  Adjusting the wimples crinkle.  Absentminded while sewing I smell the bagel.  Inadvertentl