Infantile amnesia

I cried and cried, wont you come?
The person who I love?
The one who gives me milk and cuddles,
With long hair up above.

It's dark in here, I'm lying down,
Suddenly a light.
A figure in a silk night dress,
Standing in my sight.

It is my earliest memory
Years later, it's still here,
But what about the other things,
The love, the fun, the fear?

What about the walking?  Talking?
Meeting my parents friends?
The infant here first, older than I,
Who to me, his mother did lend.

It is a strange sensation,
To know it happened, yet is lost.
Those days so long ago,
Growing up comes at a cost.

It is possible though,
To remember days of past,
A smell, a sound, a sight,
May arouse those scenes at last.

And you fall into your mind,
As if dragged by anaesthesia,
Grasping at jumping orbs,
Of infantile amnesia.