The Arrington house, my first memory.

Mother, grandma, siblings and of course me.

Independence brings curiosity,

A door, the yard to be explored freely.

Never mind one, I have come across two…

Head filed with visions of forbidden fruit.

The refrigerator holds solid gold,

Sticks of butter to lick and messy hold.

The shaded triangle, a place to hide,

With the door’s perfect gap, it with provide.

Eating the butter pops until day is done, 

No worries-prying eyes would not stop fun.

At the age of three, I could clearly see,

That love, patience and guidance was to be.