The Secret Place
THE SECRET PLACE
I don’t recall how we found the spot
Or how far from the yard we’d got,
When we came upon a copse of trees
That hid a meadow from the breeze.
A circle of grass the pines had bound
No larger than a pond is round,
And whose boughs screened out the bright sun light
As green stained glass in a temple might.
And there in the center of the field
Were mounds of cones where a gnome had kneeled
To pray that none should find this place
And track him down to see his face.
We played there often, both lad and lass,
And watched the summers come and pass;
We’d made the place our own retreat
And sang and danced with grass-stained feet.
I just drove past the old neighborhood,
To look and see if the trees still stood.
Seems a park had claimed the old arbor;
Our secret place was secret no more.
Joseph I. Middlesworth All rights
© 2007 Ishmael
(All rights reserved)