Oh, to find a place, a home, with
rolling hills with scattered fast streams,
sycamore trees in front of stone walls,
vegetable gardens and red maple trees,
flowing streams with large waterfalls.
I would gladly trade my apartment for a
brick ranch home under the dogwoods.
Hedges and no utility poles line the road,
gray bluffs rising high beyond the woods,
flowers with blooms about to explode.
You can have my view of the brick wall
for the lake with pine trees lining the shore,
sail boats circling with no place to go,
winding trails by the bluffs to explore,
creek from the lake for the overflow.
No more rush hours or heavy traffic just a
bridge draped in wisteria with white blooms,
rustic boards with big wide cracks,
squeak and crack as you drive across.
The sound of rushing water provides a thrill.
Steaks sizzle over a stone grill with a
chimney covered with honeysuckle and ivy,
on the patio where a party has started,
with friends at the community center.
Could this be the place of my dreams?