We have a modest little home, It's like a million homes, I guess, A yard, a bit of garden loam In which we labor more or less; The house—a simple frame affair, A porch with flowers overgrown; You'll find its double anywhere, It isn't much, but it's Our Own! We have a car—you know the make— It rattles, but it seems to go. It suits us for the trips we take, Just little journeys to and fro; It makes us friendly with the sun, And on its wanderings we've known A lot of simple, healthful fun; It isn't much, but it's Our Own! We have a baby. It may be That there are millions just as good; But you won't get @3Us@1 to agree To such a thought, that's understood. And though we love our home, our car We speak of them in modest tone, But Baby—of all babes there are She is the best—and she's Our Own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CLEVER WOMAN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE STEED by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON THE RAINBOW [IN THE SKY] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH NORTHERN EARTH MOOD by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. THE BIRDS: THE HOOPOE'S CALL TO HIS WIFE PROCNE, THE NIGHTINGALE by ARISTOPHANES THE ANCIENTS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |