SITTING ON A TREE STUMP,
Saturday morning, early as the sun is shining down on my face,
Fall is here, there’s a coolness in the air, thoughts fill my head.
Under a beautiful oak tree of many, years I sit on this tree stump,
A stump that has a story, who might have been here before.
Sitting here I write, the land and world is my playground today,
By a creek with the sunlight looking down, I’m alone, a loud silence.
Sitting here on a tree stump I write my dreams down on paper,
I write about fantastic things that can never be done by me.
Possible adventures where I can travel down the road with a pen,
I have the imagination and power to create a world of hope and love.
Sitting on a tree stump I write poetry that I have hope will touch others,
Possibly make in their place a better day, I write all of you from a tree stump.