Stowaway

By Mary Ann Turner

Across the yard and over the fence

and through the corn grown green,

another fence and into the woods

and at last I can’t be seen.

Down a winding wild flower path

with the thistles growing tall,

I reach the center of the wood—

my favorite spot of all.

I climb a tree, branch by branch,

just as high as I can go,

and there I sit

and look around

at all the world below.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney