Poem
Secret Place
A Poem About Childhood and Imagination
Upon the golden meadow, among the trees of old,
Across the rolling hillside, through the grass of gold,
I grew up in days of sunlight, amongst the mounds of hay,
I becconed to fleeting moonlight, begging it to stay.
Looking over pastures, dancing in the wind,
I recalled a secret place, hidden round the bend.
Beneath a grand old log, laying in the wood,
There was a chamber, that changed where I stood.
It took me from the wood, green the year round,
And moved me to a world, few had ever found.
It was in this world of wonder, to my childhood eyes,
That the greatest things hid, in mundane disguise.
A normal stick in this world, was a staff, a spear, a bow,
It always was these things, only here that you’d know.
And the plants were animals, or companions at my side.
Other times I’d just leap up, into the sky and glide.
This my special place, underneath a tree,
It was under this log, that I was always free.
Free to play all day, and to use my mind,
In this secret place, no others ever find.
