Long enough for the house to become home For the shrubbery to fill the voids To no longer look like it did When you picked it off the shelf at the garden center For the vines to climb Around the door and over the windowsill
Long enough for the scratches and dents to begin to appear The first ones hurt so much But all are cherished now Like the rising row of horizontal pencil marks Just inside the pantry door
Long enough to learn where things belong And where they donβt To know that you can reach for them On the darkest night And trust they will be there
Long enough to see what others miss To notice all the little things The bug beneath your feet The movement of the sun Long enough for the birds to lose their fear And come back to the food
Long enough to know youβve chosen well That the things she did that bothered you Have now become your treasures That all those thoughts that someone Might be better in some way Have not stood the test of time That perfection is a sterile land Where nothing truly grows That soulful smiles and honest eyes Are what matter most