Homegrown
No mansion on the lake
A cottage on the lane
A hub for dwelling sake
Worn wood on windowpane
Potatoes in the bin
A mattress for my bed
A table in the den
Suffice for breaking bread
A garden wrought with weeds
That flourishes in the Fall
But still supplies my needs
When neighbors come to call
Though rustic it may be
Whenever I may roam
I ever long to see
This place that I call home
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