My quiet place is high above the maddening haste and
I can go there at my leisure, to this five story back yard walk-up, and
On the platform of this wooden stair castle in-the-air-deck, I
Can look over the city, awed at the wonders I see and write about.
The telephone is turned off to my delight and the only sounds
Are my sighs from time to time, and the whistle of the tea kettle.
No plants to water, no pets to feed, just me, pencils, pads and
My special someone, who says his sole purpose in life Is to make me happy.
I stay here as long as I desire, in this quiet place writing, and best of all,
He only plays the music I want to hear…Frank Sinatra, singing anything.
It's not a tree house that hides me
From the world; I ignore
Yellow jackets so they won't sting
Watch butterflies adored.
It's Not a tree house, inflated
Balloon, my quiet place;
I love, laugh, write here, time is naught,
sun caresses my face!