One day, we will live in a little house.
The color of buttermilk.
And we will plant a tree in our yard.
There we will savor summer
Sipping sugary lemonade
With our pinkies up, pretending we’re British.
Gram will visit in the fall
To can peaches and make homemade jam
I’ve always had homemade jam
“You spoiled thing,” you'll say. I know, I know.
She will fill our tiny kitchen with nectared steam.
There we will shape snowmen with kinked carrot noses
Until our noses are nipped.
We’ll warm each other up.
There we will delight in spring and urge the buds to bloom.
“Grow, little guy,” we will whisper.
There, the tree will grow
And so will we.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 2:26 PM UTC
One day, we will live in a little house.
The color of buttermilk.
And we will plant a tree in our yard.
There we will savor summer
Sipping sugary lemonade
With our pinkies up, pretending we’re British.
Gram will visit in the fall
To can peaches and make homemade jam
I’ve always had homemade jam
“You spoiled thing,” you'll say. I know, I know.
She will fill our tiny kitchen with nectared steam.
There we will shape snowmen with kinked carrot noses
Until our noses are nipped.
We’ll warm each other up.
There we will delight in spring and urge the buds to bloom.
“Grow, little guy,” we will whisper.
There, the tree will grow
And so will we.