Those were such happy days, for I had lately been deeded a farm,
My aunt and uncle were retiring, so tillage had lost its charm.
Since they were childless, and to a retirement community bound,
It seemed I was headed to Alabama, and an absence of city sounds!
As I worked remotely on a computer, my job wouldn't be an issue,
So I seized the opportunity, for in life such chances may be few.
I had many happy memories, of childhood summers at their farm;
And they were fond relatives, and blooms prefer where it's warm.
Although I was no farmer, I preferred quiet places near wildlife,
Like an owl sitting in the silver moonlight, for all of its life!
After packing up in New York City, I hit the southern highways;
And the drive was calm and peaceful, like lush parks on Sundays.
I made the trip in a day and a half, stopping for meals and rest;
And driving slowly was preferable, as the scenery was the best!
It seemed entirely fitting, when at last I read the welcome sign.
For it said, "Welcome to Sweet Home Alabama," riant in summershine.
When I finally reached my new home, it was just as I remembered,
With grassy hills, trees, pond and orchards, frogs and redbirds.
Near the farmhouse stood a small cottage, which sat upon a hill,
A cottage which was pretty, the area covered in wildflowers still.
I'd slept here in long ago summers, as I'd always loved the place;
And while relatives slept nearby, I'd reveled in my own tiny space.
In a fit of sweet nostalgia, I decided to sleep there once again,
It would be easier to get ready, and there was no need to strain.
I unpacked, dusted and had dinner, enjoying views of the meadow;
And the scenic hills beyond, as the skies above became mellow!
Finally the stars began to come out, along with a quarter moon;
And I'd begun to feel drowsy, as I had been driving since noon.
Soon I lay in my snug bed, listening to a far off screech owl;
And Sandman sprinkled stardust, as night critters began to prowl.
Because my dreams were very pleasant, I awoke to sunshine smiles,
Sure a happier person couldn't be found, within a hundred miles!
Pink dawn poured in the windows, as I made toast eggs and coffee,
From among the bagged groceries, that I had brought along with me.
Since I hadn't yet seen the morning views, I was eager to get out;
But when I finally did just that, my senses I had cause to doubt!
Because my hilltop had become Montmartre, that large hill of Paris.
The night before I'd dreamed it all, and it came from latent wish!
Though I was in a state of shock, the pleasure could not be denied,
For I had a fine view of the Eiffel Tower, the city of Paris' pride.
People walked past me to and fro, while gaily conversing in French;
And my farm seemed quite gone, in another reality wholly entrenched.
I gaily spent the day sightseeing, and even visited the Eiffel Tower,
As a pretty purple martin, sings his dawnsong from a strange bower!
I returned home long before sunset, afraid my cottage would leave me;
And after dinner when I looked outside, my farm was back magically.
Fatigued from the day's exertions, I greeted the Sandman once more,
Wondering if he'd host another trip, without ever opening the door!
Like the sunshine comes to visit, with at no time a formal entry;
And leaves by the very same method, like the spirit roaming free.
At dawn I saw the house had moved again, as if upon a magic carpet;
And it set me to marvelling, as views of the Swiss Alps were perfect!
After breakfast I rushed outside, and strolled down the mountainside,
Trailed by blue skies and birdsong, and the pleasures were magnified.
I relished a day of sightseeing, with a visit to the local village;
And I realized how lucky I was, for free world travel is a priviledge!
So I decided to manage this fine gift, in responsible and feasible ways,
By sleeping in the farmhouse weeknights, and travelling on my off days.
For these days I had a farm to keep up, and I had a living to make;
But once I found that vital balance, I thrilled in each weekend escape.
I visited the Italian Riviera, Niagara Falls and Mount Kilimanjaro,
Dubai, Bora Bora, and India, seeing the world from my cottage window!
I've wandered the streets of Moscow, and I toured London's East End,
Like the ever wandering birds, singing raptures of views without end.
Every weekend night I am dreaming, and I'm waiting for the orange sun;
And always I am visited by Sandman, and I dream what soon will come.
And as beggars can't be choosers, I must take whatever dream I can,
Because exactly as it's always been, I am at the mercy of the Sandman!