Lost Poem by Angela Wybrow

Sitting under an old oak tree;
Head in the clouds; words running free.
Dreams are floating far, far away,
Like a gentle breeze across the bay.

You may see me sitting down here,
But my restless mind is nowhere near;
Here I sit with my paper and pen:
Chillin' out with my two best friends.

From my mind, the words are flowing;
Verse by verse, my poem is growing.
As I build my poem, word by word,
Above my head, sweet birdsong is heard.

To the outside world, my eyes seem quite blind,
As images and ideas inhabit my mind;
As sentences, phrases, words all unite,
From off of the page, my poem takes flight.

A scented breeze fills the spring air.
Within my mind, there's no worry or care.
A yellow buttetfly catches my eye:
Briefly distracted, I watch it dance by.

Surrounded by daises, petals pure white,
I'm reminded of stars studding the night;
The sun up above, has a warm, happy glow,
As blossom petals fall down softly like snow.

Here I sit, with my mind lost in thought:
In a perfect world, my mind is now caught;
Sitting, enjoying a perfect spring day,
Everyday worries feel like a lifetime away.