A memory like the pattern of an old carpet

A town not on the map
Flowers are blooming
Red, white, yellow, blue–
At the bend in the hillside road
The wind of young grass blows
Passing the house with a hedgerow,
A weary river flows
Along the riverside, a small shop opens its gate
Sunlit spotsLaughter
A dozing old dog――
I knew a town like this
I lived in a place like this
I was a thin boy
It’s a memory like the pattern of an old carpet