~ Where Can I Write ? ~

Where do I go to write my poetry anymore
I stand in a field of dusty weeds it doesn't
help my muse at all
The winds are blustering, in swells of sand
I can't see to write, so I carry on
I move on to shelter from the storm,
 it's lightning scars me,
 and the thunder rocks the floor
I can't write, when the door flies open,
 and I'm covered with dirt
My pen and paper blew from my hands
Now to chase it from the land
 I can't write if it's not found
I move to the ocean,
where the tides are in, and out
there it may inspire me to write
Sea water, salty, and too cold
 I had to move to higher land
There in the mountains,
 is where I could find inspiration
nothing to bother me, just a nice sensation
So, I find a log, and I begin to write
 I see trees, trees everywhere
 I stare, what can I say about a tree
Their brown bark, tall as can be,
 their coverd with pine cones and leaves
They stand above all else the forest floor,
 that's all I get from being there, so on I go
Now, where do I go to write my poetry
I guess there's no place like home,
Now I know I'll be safe, and all alone
With my pen and paper, I'll stay and write
and pretend to be somewhere else tonight