Feb 13


I stare at the clouds

Sitting softly in the sky

Above the place I call home

A small swing

Sways slowly

Tied to a tall tree 

The wind whistles

And a leaf falls to the ground

Without the faintest sound

A mouse scurrys

Across the ground

To reach a hidey hole

The sun glares down

And shadows dance

Behind a tall oak

My home rests here

In the feeling of security


And nature.