I looked at the window perched on my pedestal,
And saw the only tree that was twisted like a mirical.
I was reminded of the Grinch,his sharp acussing fingers,
But the fluffy green leaves they mumbled somthing softer,
And the girl in the story i stole her mind of her.

I looked at the grass under the waves of April sun,
Me and the pirate that always won.
We swayed like the sea feet tapping one by one,
To some silent symphony till the day was done.

In the distance a tree,
In it some thing square? A house?
Calling me?
Thousands of indians must be, twirling in the rafter,
I hear their chants, their drums and laughter.
Revolving,revolving in a world of their own,
Could this be my world too?

My one true home?

In this life of dull and hard grey ground,
We dont see great beauty or hear whispers of sound.
Look deep in your heart, find somthing profound,
For it is in our imagination, where adventure is found.

Olivia Owens.