Across the road and down the way,
The five of them come every day.
The weather might be freezing cold
(The youngest one is eight years old)
But nonetheless, each day I see
Them all together, family.
The mother teaches self-defense,
And wrote two books a while ago:
The dad’s a farming engineer,
Who works in heat and rain and snow.
The three girls are all different,
The oldest one’s a leader;
The middle one runs track and field,
The little one’s a reader.
Whatever it was I thought I knew
About country folk seems frankly wrong
Since I have known that family,
And when I see them walk along,
I wonder at why we generalize
About people we don’t know;
Or why it is they’re out there in
About six feet