Across the yard and over the fence
and through the corn grown green,
another fence and into the woods
and at last I can’t be seen.
Down a winding wild flower path
with the thistles growing tall,
I reach the center of the wood—
my favorite spot of all.
I climb a tree, branch by branch,
just as high as I can go,
and there I sit
and look around
at all the world below.