Nostalgia

So rambling stories I have to begin with
Of my childhood's wooden carved trolley
Those plastic tube while run much too slow
Albeit snowy slopes;I wouldn't mind to worry

I'd spin it round, and round again
Till my arms go twisted back along
While you pull my ears, O' Mother, dear
"It's a circle, not a square! ", to be done

My choices - so naive ,and what a square is?
"It will rotate quick, mother! ", I'd cry out loud
She'd hold me back, and hug me tight then
And would smile for a dreamer boy in me.
~