Stolen Times

A field of poppies is where I go, when I want to rest
I turn into a little bird, surrounded by it's nest
I feel so safe & cosy here, away from troubled times
I watch the poppies swaying, in the softness of the breeze
I hear the distant humming, of the honey bees
It's lovely here, I want to stay, but I know I must go home
I'll come again, another day, to be here on my own