The tree house: A poem by Girija Prakash

How nice to stay in a tree house!
As a kid, my father had built it,
for me and my friends to play.
It was a private space,
where trespassers were prohibited.
I kept it so neat and tidy.
None could dare to enter in dirty shoes.
Surrounded by so many bushes and plants,
my tree house was my private property.
My summer holidays were spent in that cozy house.
Other than my buddies, only squirrels and birds were allowed.
Peeping from my tiny castle,
I experienced the luxury of a royal princess.
High up above, almost touching the blue sky,
I enjoyed the caresses of the cool breeze.
I felt blissful to watch the river flowing.
How colorful the world was!
Blossoms of different hues.
Butterflies flitting around nonstop
Huge mountains with clouds hovering over them.
Those mesmerizing sights took my breath away.
I wish I lived in my tree house again!
Alas! Now it's just in my sweet memories.