Daydream Poem by Anastasia Wofford

I wonder of times long forgotten by men.
Are these real things I see before me?
A colorful songbird sings of his days activities.
A gentle breeze blows my young hair,
And tickles my nose with the promise of ceasing.
The meadow vibrant, dances to a tune of its own.
A mother squirrel scampers to her home in the Willow.
Laying on the plush earth beneath me,
I quietly hum something familiar,
Not wanting to return, to whence I came from.