I'd like for us to
have the chance

to find that place
we call our own.

The kind you'd
visit as a child,

making beds in the grass,
drawing stories in the dirt;

climbing fences
that prevented cows
from getting out.

The kind with a view,
a wide-stretched vista;
sun, hills and sky;

another world
created purely for
it's viewer.

—And I remember
as a child,

I'd resort in
covering my face,

when there was
nowhere left to hide.

But with dirtied
hands it's not so easy,

my shadows
take good care of that,

and I save my light
for whoever sees past
them, before

knowing what was
really there.