THE FARM GATE
Unmistakably rural, the farm gate stands on guard,
Holding at bay the country, which attempts to invade the yard.
The home is an oasis, a small domestic place,
Holding its own in a countryside of never-ending space.
Here is grass trimmed neatly, like a little suburban lawn,
While beyond are the rolling paddocks and the broad gold sweep of corn.
Here a woman has fashioned a home of comfort and ease.
She can gaze out of her windows at the all-encircling trees.
The shade they cast is so soothing, like arboreal benedictions.
The fence and the gate never seem to her to be anything like restrictions.
On the contrary, they are symbols of the fact that she made her mark;
That she turned her spot in the wilderness into her private park.
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