I pick up my satchel
And run my fingers
over the sunflower patch
That mother sewed on.
Headed for peace and wonder,
I hit the pavement
to search for my own space.
Under the Oak tree
Buried in a hardback
Pretending to be in the country
Beside a babbling brook.
Ignoring the city sounds
I escape my worries
Inside a foreign world
Of someone’s making.