MY SECRET PLACE
I know a hidden place, which I know so well,
Its whereabouts? I simply cannot tell,
For this secret place I can only share,
So walk with me, I'll take you there.
There are flowers with petals ever so soft,
As I walk in my place, the sun is aloft,
Scent in the air is heavenly sweet,
Sun shining down, giving radiant heat.
Dew rolls down leaves like joyful tears,
Falling to the ground in their tiny spheres,
The wind whispers secrets to the trees,
Creating only a light, and gentle breeze.
Beautiful music ascends into the air,
A sweet song small birds are eager to share,
Those who can see a place this much,
Well understand, it is more to touch.
Sprinkles of dust glide upon sunbeams,
Little spiders, adrift with their schemes,
Each tiny treasure time has stored:
My secret place, I'd love to hoard.
As seasons change from hot to cold,
From green to brown, from red to gold,
I watch the leaves change their clothes,
But they never seem to change their souls.
When winter's cold is gone and past,
In sheltered nooks we find at last,
Where ivy green is slowly creeping,
The dark blue violets shoots are peeping.
I cannot reveal to you this place,
My garden of beauty, full of grace,
I know this garden you will never find,
Because it's here with me, in my mind.
By
JOHN HAMPSON
© Copyright Reserved 2009
I know a hidden place, which I know so well,
Its whereabouts? I simply cannot tell,
For this secret place I can only share,
So walk with me, I'll take you there.
There are flowers with petals ever so soft,
As I walk in my place, the sun is aloft,
Scent in the air is heavenly sweet,
Sun shining down, giving radiant heat.
Dew rolls down leaves like joyful tears,
Falling to the ground in their tiny spheres,
The wind whispers secrets to the trees,
Creating only a light, and gentle breeze.
Beautiful music ascends into the air,
A sweet song small birds are eager to share,
Those who can see a place this much,
Well understand, it is more to touch.
Sprinkles of dust glide upon sunbeams,
Little spiders, adrift with their schemes,
Each tiny treasure time has stored:
My secret place, I'd love to hoard.
As seasons change from hot to cold,
From green to brown, from red to gold,
I watch the leaves change their clothes,
But they never seem to change their souls.
When winter's cold is gone and past,
In sheltered nooks we find at last,
Where ivy green is slowly creeping,
The dark blue violets shoots are peeping.
I cannot reveal to you this place,
My garden of beauty, full of grace,
I know this garden you will never find,
Because it's here with me, in my mind.
By
JOHN HAMPSON
© Copyright Reserved 2009
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