Remember days at number 3
when we had time to sit? And see
the raindrops coursing down the pane
and race them, giving ours a name?
Remember when the storm would light
the chintzy curtains in the night
and we would huddle in our bed?
Remember all the things we said?
and how we giggled endlessly,
when we were young, at number 3?
Number 3
Published by
aplaceforpoetry 
Gosh but what a beautiful memory.
I can hear the naming of those drops…”I will call mine Price Of A Dream!”
“Hmm, mine will be Pink Flamingo!”
beautiful