What is this place that comes to me,
While sitting beneath this willow tree?
Watching a peaceful stream glide by.
Above, a never changing sky.
Swans flapping to and fro.
Fish swimming far below.
Insects crawl where they belong,
While birds provide their happy song.
Canopies that shade mushrooms growing,
Autumn leaves forever showing.
Ivy intertwines the trees,
With floral scents upon the breeze.
Dew drops falling one by one.
All is dappled by the sun.
Distant pines sway together.
They never know inclement weather.
Fairies dancing here and there.
Waltzing butterflies in the air.
Unicorns saunter without care,
With flowers blooming everywhere.
Bluebells waving happily.
Time suspended indefinitely.
Nature’s canvass never tainted.
Only waiting to be painted.
What is this place that comes to me?
Precious, yet provided free.
It’s magic of a special kind,
It grows within a poet’s mind.