We all dream of a place called Fantasyland.
One can imagine there is quite a demand.
For who would not wish to visit that spot,
A location like that – we’ve earnestly sought.
But I am different from others you see.
The place that I want is the foot of a tree --
Sitting on bark decomposing to soil,
Leaning my back, book in hand, free from toil.
Oh, what delight does that image bring to me.
The sky up above and the birds flying free.
The squirrels are achatter, springing about,
Scolding my presence, I have little doubt.
But I, sitting beneath the limbs of a tree
Am contentedly relaxed and pleased as can be.
For the freshness of air, and the genuine peace
Make me desperately hope the day will not cease.
Beside me are apples, red as love hearts,
Juicy and sweet, cut in finger-sized parts.
Nibbling and reading, at ease for the day,
I just can’t imagine a better place to stay.
Maybe I should voyage into outer space,
Ride a camel, and visit an exotic place.
Oh, sure it’d be exciting exploring a cave,
Or talking with dragons -- but I’m not very brave.
Sitting in the forest underneath open sky
Suits my needs -- for I’m truthfully shy.
Fantasyland for others is far from their home,
But for me, it’s the tree of this humble poem.