Here I lie, dreaming the hours away,
under an autumn sky, muting the city's noise.
I see the clouds, drifting on their journey
taking from me the hectic tension.

The cool breeze blows, rustling the leaves above
An oasis of life inside the concrete desert.
My soul takes flight with a bird's sweet song
blooming with love for old Nana's Tree.

Lindsey Milton 1998

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