When I was a child, as young as you,
There were lots of things I liked to do,
But oh! my favorite place to be
Was out of doors and up a tree.

My house in the tree was simple and small,
With leaves for walls, no roof at all
But the sky’s clear blue, far as eye could see,
And the rustling breeze for company.

For peace and solitude alone,
That house was grander than any throne.
I could sit and dream, or read, or sing
And I was richer than any king.

Now I’m grown and live in town.
Riches are nice, wouldn’t turn ’em down.
But I sometimes wish I could be as free
As a summer’s child with a house in a tree.

Janice Lewis Clark 7-13-96