At the neighborhood park, I once claimed the nook
Between the open field and river bend,
And often I liked to sit and look '

From behind the trees that read my book
Over my shoulder, never revealing the end,
And shaded my afternoon naps in the nook '

And watch the passers-by on foot,
Or scooters or bikes, as was the trend,
Noticing that they would rarely look

To see the girl across the crook
Of the creek, beyond where the trees could extend,
Taking notes from within the nook,

Penning thoughts down in her well-worn book
(Though really gold-lined, as she liked to pretend)
Of the people who'd almost never look.

Today three boys played just by the brook,
With the twig-shaped swords they used to defend
Their kingdom in the guise of a common nook.
Transfixed, I could not help but look.