Above the world, in grandmother’s attic
We sit among the old furniture
Dressed in dust-covered hats
With colors that have faded
We dance on the wooden floor
And taste the nostalgic sunshine

Through the window seeps the sunshine
Flooding the murky attic
With a yellow glow that reflects off the floor
And lingers on the furniture
That has become very faded
While we lounge around with our feathered hats

Bonnets, fedoras, and straw hats
That are worn and faded
From exposure to the mellow sunlight
That fully soaks the attic,
Are placed on the furniture
As we run barefooted on the solid floor

When we bound across the cold floor,
Off flies our outdated hats
We jump on the furniture
And absorb the beautiful sunshine
That warms Grandmother’s attic
While our felicity never fades

As the sun sets and the light fades,
We lay on the weathered floor
That resides in our fortress; the attic
On our stomachs, dwell our hats
While we enjoy the receding sunshine
That is creeping over the furniture

Now we turn from the furniture
That is vastly faded
Because there is no more sunshine
Warming the aged floor
So we pick up our hats
And withdraw from the attic

I memorize the childhood sunshine of the attic
And on my head, I place a faded hat
While relaxing on the furniture that stands tall on the dusty floor