Garden Street
Deeply settled in sandy soil
Roots poke through a picket-lined sidewalk
Paralleled by a street with no lines
Unfurling to briney bay
As singing psithurism
Whispers legends of the deep
Saltbox homes lie modest yet sturdy
Copying the hands that made them
Nailing the shingles were
Sea bound dreamers and hardened sailors
Growing the tiny village
To a town of tradesmen and whalers
A small swamp hosts deer and daffodils
Sustaining sleepy calmness
Caressed by the harbor winds
Only home to a lucky few
The little street holds a peaceful grace
Undisturbed by seasons and people
Unlike the village beyond the trees
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