As we wound through hills and valleys, I spotted an old round, red brick granary on an abandoned homestead. It's top was open to the sky and the door was long gone. But the pleasantness of the view made me start to fantasize about this:
(I'll apologize in advance for creative rhyming and carelessness with poetic meter!)
My house will be white, with a wide front porch,And a swing to sit in when I feel out of sorts.
It will be three stories high with a cellar below--
A safe place to shelter when stormy winds blow.
And sunlight always shines down through cottonwood trees.
An American flag will hang by the door,
With a welcome mat spread on the knotty pine floor.
And crisp white sheets soaking up sunshine.
We'll sit on the porch and drink lemonade,
And eat oatmeal cookies and ice cream and cake!
The weeds will not grow, the pigs won't need fed.
No need to milk cows or gather the eggs.
The kitchen's stays clean, the sun mostly shines,
The beds are always made in this vision of mine.
I know that this dream sounds corny and quaint,
But I'm tired of trying to be something I ain't.
It's no secret I'm weary of this same daily whirl
Take the girl from the country, but not the country from the girl.