The time of my childhood gone by,
Yet why I can recall the days,
A sweet, namely cookie, be mine,
A sweet grandma, giver, did say.

"My dear, here it's." and so began,
My life, fruitful by flock of friends,
Had she not give to me the hand,
Life might have been a lot of pain.

Four years passed, Monroe the grand,
Passed away, making me mourn,
And what is more, back to Japan,
I must as pa new job be donned.

In my birthplace, I did not know,
A single word passing my ears,
Until four girls, by no means foes,
Became my peers, rubbed my tears.

Living with them was like a dream,
Except that they have been so true,
That I did love, and I did deem,
They be my pals, best ones, grave to.

After two more springs did go,
Again my dad, hired, at bay,
Did go back where we were; well, so,
Tearfully though, I went his way.

Back in New York, Monroe still lays,
Never do I forget the old,
And my young folks, who do still play,
Their part of love, making ours Gold.

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