County Line Home

Things change, but the roots run deep,
Same hard ground under my boots.
This is my county line home, you can leave,
But it keeps you in its bones.
Some doors close, some faces fade,
But the porch light stays in the same old place.
Missadale still waves from the garden,
Says my mom's rose bush made it through the freeze.
The tire swing's gone from the cottonwood tree now,