Roses are pink
in our yard,
they glow against
the lines that say
“This is ours–
This is our land,
our small piece of earth,
to take care of, to
To laugh on, live life on
To smile on,
Hold hands on.”

Roses are white
in our yard.
The petals all fall
to the grass beneath
sweet rain drops.
Our eyes adjust to the gloom
as we stare out the
windows and
Dutch Door
and watch the cat
scratch its back on gray stones.
“This is ours.”