My footsteps have worn a path|
Down to the old mill stream.
That rustic wooden bench there
Knows all my secret dreams.
I've struck up a lasting friendship
With the birds that sing and play
Furry squirrels run 'round my feet,
Each and every day.
This old woodland path is mine
Where the finest flower grows.
Home to creatures of the woodland,
And the lovely rambling rose.
A peaceful spot, so beautiful
Natures blessings reign sublime
Small miracles occur here.
Where dreams and roses entwine.
© 2011 Mariannajo
(All rights reserved)