I'm a child of
the '50s, and when, as a boy,
Had lots of ambition, but not many toys,
So the forest was my playground, the trees were my space,
I would rather be there than in any old place.
I would live in the
treetops and hide in the leaves,
The boughs were my rooftop, the branches, my eaves,
And safe from the traffic down there on the ground,
So look to the trees, that is where I'd be found.
My treehouse was
Heaven, that's where I would hide,
Though built with
rough lumber, it filled me with pride,
For it was my haven, a shelter from storm,
A place to protect me; a place to stay warm.
A place full of
daydreams where I could be free,
No need to please others, just me being me,
A kid with a treehouse, a refuge, a fort,
A mansion, a hideout, a castle, a court.
But now I am older;
the treehouse is gone,
The eve of my childhood has turned into dawn,
But when I see forests I look to the trees,
Where daydreams are hiding that no one can see.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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