I can step inside the picture
That hangs upon my wall
And walk the road that winds beneath the hill.
I can climb the grassy slopes,
And walk among the trees
And watch the river race towards the mill.
It's a world of days gone by,
Of innocence and peace,
Where nightingales and blackbirds sing their song.
No traffic on the road,
No tractor in the field, just
A gentle breeze to help the clouds along.
I'm taking down that picture
To draw a little figure
And on the back I'll carefully write my name,
Then when I'm next inside it
That figure will be me
And I'll never have to come back out again.
the above work is copyright David Axton © All Rights Reserved