Hear the old green windmill
shimmer and shake in the crisp
of the summer breeze.
See the old willow dancing in the wind.
And the creek of the old swing swing.
I see the world in ways others can’t.
The smell of fresh cut grass still
hanging in the air.
The sweet smell of a single
dew drop left behind.
I hear and see these thing but do you
hear and see these things?