The House by the Lake

Wind sweeps through the prairie
on a cold winter ever.
I hope to see the stars tonight
above the maple trees.

The grass meets the sand.
The lake may ripple by.
The sun won't be there,
it will be gone from the sky.

I dream of a windy night.
It will smell of the oncoming snow.
My spirits shall be high.
My voice shall be low.

Hopefully, no one will ruin it.
And for goodness' sake,
I promise to be peaceful
at the house by the lake.