There is a bench in the back of my mind,
Where I like to come and sit.
Where the winds of my thoughts blow gently about,
but I don't have to
think about it.

I sit on this bench in a garden so sweet,
it smells of honey and dew;
the fragrance of dreams billows quietly here,
And I like smelling the roses,
too.

I come to this bench when I am angry or sad,
When I'd rather search clouds for shapes;
I grow trees in abundance and let honeybees roam,
mend broken ideas wrapped
'round old tapes.

This bench is my place for when I must hide -
Secret safe nobody shall find.
I surround it with good things and breaths of fresh air,
this bench at the back
of my mind.