I just realized our humble abode
Is smack-dab in the middle of dinky-house road.
We muddle along in our simple ranches
And their add-ons that shoot off like stubby branches.
We fuss with our lawns but appear as mice
From outer space through a telescopic device.
We barely make waves in the grand scheme of things
Being no larger than droplets in a stone throw’s rings.
But maybe someday it won’t be that way
Perhaps we’ll be something or have something to say.
That will be larger than tiny, louder than ka-boom
Until then we’ll exist in our dinky-house room.