There's an old dusty road
which leads to a quaint log cabin
atop of a green rolling hill
with a nearby stream
No fences to hold me in
except for horses to graze
by their stables
and rows of sweet maize
There's a path from the road
that leads to my door
With the welcoming smell of pine
and a few weeping willow trees
A lilac bush and all colors of roses
I'm a two-story house
with plenty of room
for a family of eleven
A welcome mat and a sign that reads
"God bless all who enter in"
You can most often smell pies or cakes
baking in the oven
Or a big pot of soup for all to share
My furnishings are antique and handmade
I wear beautiful memories that will never fade
A wonderful place to call home