Along the stream of summer days,

We launched our dreams in gentle ways—

With paper boats on silver tide,

And secrets folded deep inside.

The sun poured gold on meadow’s edge,

Where laughter danced along the hedge,

And breezes stirred a memory spent,

Of childhood hours and lemon scent.

We watched the ripples take them far,

Our tiny fleets beneath the star

Of cloudless blue and whispered hopes,

Adrift on time’s invisible ropes.

The paper boats, now soft and worn,

Held echoes of the days we’d sworn

To never lose, yet barely kept—

Like petals pressed, or tears wept.

Still, when warm winds return again,

And lemons bloom in gardens then,

That scent will pull me back to streams,

To paper boats, and sunlit dreams.