I traveled many years ago
To a hill fine and supreme,
It had pretty poppies and a waterfall
That flowed into the stream.

The fact of it all is that
I had kept it so unknown ,
I never leaked a single word,
And it was all my own.

One day I came across you
Sitting upon the sill,
Yearning to be taken up
To a so-called ‘magical hill’.

‘Hills can’t be magic,’ I said with a smirk
And I left on my way,
As you watched and wondered where
I’d go on this pretty day.

I sat at Poppy Hill and thought
How you knew of my hideout,
But I decided you had just made things up
And continued without a doubt.

I swam in the river, smelled the poppies,
And watched the birds fly by,
But in what seemed like minutes the sun had set
And I bid my hill goodbye.

‘Where were you?’ you asked at home,
More skeptical than before,
‘I was at the market,’ I said, then you replied
‘What did you get from the store?’

‘I decided against what I wanted,’ I answered,
Slowly slipping away,
Not wanting to tell you about the place
Where I spent that beautiful day.

‘Where were you?’ You asked the next day,
Thinking the same thing,
‘I went for a walk,’ I responded,
Once again lying.

You shook your head with a smile
Of suspicion on your lips,
‘Whatever you say,’ you sighed,
And walked away, hands on hips.

That day I actually had felt bad
That I had lied to you,
I knew then that I would
Start being true.

The next day I went to you
And asked if you could play.
You nodded and asked where we would be
On this lovely day.

‘Here we are!’ I exclaimed
Once we arrived there.
I finally realized the best spot
Was one that you could share.

‘It’s Poppy Hill!’ And I confessed
That I wasn’t being real.
But you still beamed, and gave me a hug,
Not upset with the ordeal.

From then on, you and I
Went to our place every day.
Poppy Hill was a shared secret,
And it will stay that way.