Memories are made of the simplest things
Like puppy dogs and butterfly wings
A game my dad and I used to play
Way back long ago in my younger days
We didn't have much; truth to tell
A puppy called Pici I loved so well
A house that dad built with his own hands
Right there upon newly owned lands
Three acres of lovely sultana vines
My almond tree I used to climb
Dad would play simple little games
Reciting words and silly rhymes
We'd play; laugh whenever we could
Ah I remember those days; so good
Dad would twist up a bundle of hair
Pretending it was a blowie flying there
He'd say the rhyme about the fly and
The big blowie; with sleight of hand
He'd buzz them round before my eyes
As a little child I was mesmerised...
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