I TAKE my broom and sweep my step,
To make it smooth and brown;
Then I sit down and wait with Jep
Until the sun goes down.
I think some day that I may see
A little brownie elf
Peep out of there, and speak to me,
When I am by myself.
I like my roses at the side,
Much better than the flower-row
Along your path where people ride.
I leave my roses just to grow.
I like the place that's broken, too,
With splintered edges all around,
And grasses growing right up through,
That smell so fresh like dew and ground.
Your steps are nice, but then my own
Seem nicer somehow, just for me;
Pine steps are more like home than stone,
For once they lived and were a tree.