All in all

When I was a pigtailed child so small

And my parents seemed as giants so tall

I would hide behind the low wall

I hear them both together shouting and call

My name resounding from the back of the hall.

But then in the end so tragic I had a fall.

Later that day I saw Santa sitting in a stall

Holding in his hands a magic red ball.

All in all, we can call it a poem,

All you see is all there is, an accurate self-portrait.

All the gold in China sounds so distant and made up.

All that effort to find it, and then what to do?

All day I think, I will be glad when this drawing ends.

All those roads not travelled, those choices made,

All those cheeks not kissed; hugs long forgotten.

All the memories erased in the last reboot.