There's a little house beside the trees, White curtains moving in the summer breeze. A wooden gate that never quite stays shut, Wildflowers growing through the garden cracks. I'm barefoot before the morning's fully here, With a dozen little things to do out there. Someone's humming softly in the kitchen, I can smell the toast from down the hall. The puppies tumble over one another, I don't have to think of anything at all. This is my little corner of the world, Where the grass grows wild and the days move slow. I run through the fields until my cheeks turn pink, Then follow little fawns wherever they go. There's always someone waiting when I come home, And I never have to wonder if I belong. The grass is cool beneath my feet, Wildflowers brush against my knees. The puppies race ahead of me, Then tumble through the buttercups. I hear the stream before I see it, Sunlight dancing on the water. A little fawn steps from the trees, For a moment, we just look at each other. Then it comes a little closer, While the puppies settle in the grass. I wish the afternoon could last forever, With nowhere else I need to be. The cows move softly in the meadow, The evening light falls gently on the land. I whisper all my secrets to the deer, Who listen like they almost understand. This is my little corner of the world, Where the grass grows wild and the days move slow. I run through the fields until my cheeks turn pink, Then follow little fawns wherever they go. There's always someone waiting when I come home, And I never have to wonder if I belong. I'm ten years old. There's so much left to see. But right now, this is everything to me. Tomorrow can wait beyond the trees. I've got muddy feet and grass stains on my knees. No grand adventure, nothing new, Just another day beneath this sky of blue. The puppies are sleeping, the fields turn gold, I curl up where the evenings feel like home. Someone kisses my forehead, turns out the light, And tells me I'll see them in the morning. I close my eyes with a smile on my face, Still feeling the warmth of that beautiful place. The little house sleeps beneath the stars, The woods are quiet, the world feels ours. And then I open my eyes. The ceiling is white. The room is still. No paws by the doorway. No breeze on the hill. I turn to the window, expecting the trees, The old wooden fence and the summer breeze. There's only a room I already know, Pale morning light across the floor. I whisper the name of the place I had seen, Trying to hold on to where I had been. I reach for the dream that slipped away... The little house is gone.
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