Across the stream the cottage stood, the barn, and house both antique wood.
The walls a maze of ivy’s green, a pleasant country morning scene.
Roses sweet and gently dewed, blushed perfection, painted, hued,
Grace the pickets painted white and sweetly bloom after the night.

Velvet hills creep up to greet the day as evenings rest gives up the way.
Any shadows left behind just tag along like they don’t mind.
She brews the coffee for their mugs as they start their day with gentle hugs.
And then he’s off to work he does not dread, her to knead and bake some bread.

New baby ducks under the wing are listening to the rooster sing.
“Work to do…work to do…cockle doodle doodle do!”
Bunnies in the carrot patch run, their tummies full, they’ve had their fun.
Away before guilty they are caught, (that’s just the way that they’ve been taught.)

The cat meows, the cattle low, its time to milk, they seem to know.
Impatiently they wait as one until the deed is finally done and soon
The cat drinks up her share and the cows relieved just do not care.
Instead go on to chew their cud while baby pigs snooze in the mud.

The chickens scratch to find some feed and the farmer goes to sow some seed.
While beyond the curtains, lacy, white. Behind the windows and their light
Hung on the rosebud papered walls, past the doors and down the halls
Family pictures hang on wire, country smiles that never tire.

06/16/2004