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The Picket Fence
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I was talking to a
fellow, and he couldn’t figure out,
Women and their picket fence? What's that all about?
I smiled and said it's not the wood, though beautiful to see
It’s what's inside that matters,
at least it is to me.
The flowers of our garden
that we planted just as seeds,
Each year we tended faithfully, it's cultivating needs.
The welcome on our doorway, inviting all our friends
Memories are made in there, inside where hearts transcend.
The home where we’ve
assembled all the happy times and sad,
Where we learned to cope with heartache; made do with what we had.
This place we gave our children, a haven from each storm,
A shelter from life’s troubles where the fireplace keeps us warm.
Inside this fence
collections, the treasures of our lives
Where emptiness once lingered, a family now thrives.
All that we have wanted ... just through that swinging gate,
Those sturdy posts of timber that surround our dream estate.
  Within the boundary of
that wood, the reason for our pride
Everything a woman dreams is nestled safely just inside.
So you see it’s not the fence itself, nor it’s wooden planks of white,
But a frame that holds the picture, the picture of our life.
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