The Poet Spot

When I was young I longed to be surrounded by trees, water and flowers without bees,for fear I might get stung: Overreacting I would run... act a fool when I'd see one. But no-matter the price,bees or not, I had to be in my poet spot. My poet spot was there back in the day,but now it is not. The sun would undress me, I'd just sit while the soft breeze caressed me. There I could ponder, with the water trickling underneath my feet. No one knew this spot, I'd always go alone, so I could think my selfish poet thoughts.... In my Poet spot,the spot I deemed to be just for me! Thinking clearly now,writing freely, Breathing oxygen in, I wrote so freely back then.... I'd put back on my clothes, and dry off my feet,watch a butterfly carefully.... I let the beetle free , who kept me company against his will. Made two Praying Mantis fight. I knew this wasn't right to write. Then I'd go home .