There is a place that children know;

a place where grownups seldom go.

It’s quiet there and flowers bloom.

A gentle breeze brings the sweet perfume

of flowers and

the only sounds are the quiet kind

that don’t demand a quick reply;

the song of birds, the hum of bees,

the summer wind in leafy trees and

laughter, and


the place is different for each child

a leafy nook, perhaps, a mansion of twigs

‘mongst the roots of a tree,

a dog.


But one sure thing each spot contains;

the print of a soul in faded jeans

and hanging soft in the summer air

the fragrance of childhood

lingers there.


c.2000, Donna Swanson


About dswan2

Poet, author, columnist, lyricist, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, wife of 50 years. Born and raised in America's Heartland
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