Poetry and Short, Descriptive Stories

Nostalgia

The sun is warm, but not too hot
Not a sound, but my own thought
I'm so glad, this solace I sought
To escape, what the world has wrought

The smell of coffee in the air
And sugar like at a fair
And at the flowers, I do stare
Nature really has its flare

Maybe I'll go climb the tree
That's growing there, luring me
At the top what will I see?
And will I finally be free?

I've come to love the life I lead
Planting, watering, sewing seeds
I do this both with word and deed
And please you, would my warning heed

When you come unto this place
The journey through is not a race
Keep a slow and mindful pace
And enjoy this small, safe space.