Hollow

Down near the riverside I have a little hollow,

And when I want to be alone, I let this hollow swallow

Me down deep inside where no one else can see,

But I can watch them through the branches of the sycamore tree.

I've old and young and young and old and everything in between.

I've seen all the season's colors from burnt orange to forest green.

Sometimes I sit and ponder for the entire day,

And marvel at the sight of anything that comes my way.

I love my little hollow on the river by the tree,

I love the way I fit inside and the comfort it brings to me.

It's my private little contemplation station deep inside the ground,

Where I lie and think and watch the world and never make a sound.

So if you're near the river, and you think you hear a voice,

Or a very quiet almost nothing, it's time to make a choice.

Could it be the water calling, the river and its friends?

Or could it be you've now arrived at what we call "wit's end"?

It might be me, nestled deep, with one eye on your plight,

Enjoying your confusion with child-like delight.

Hoping you won't see me, curled up inside my place,

Or stumble on my super-secret cozy little space.

Down by the riverside I have a little hollow,

And when I want to be alone, I let that hollow swallow

Me down deep inside where no one else can see,

But I can watch them through the branches of the sycamore tree.