The streets are still, but whispers stir beneath,
A hush that's loud with unspoken fear and grit.
In every leafless tree, a silent sentinel stands,
Guarding the facade of manicured hands.

We meet in shadows where the light dares not tread,
Huddled figures who by daylight play pretend.
Our masks align as we scheme to keep it pristine,
For what would happen if the world inside were seen?

"Keep it clean," they say, "keep it neat and tight."
The lawn must be trimmed, the fences straight and bright.
But in our darkest hour, we whisper of change:
What if we took a stand, no more to rearrange?

In corners of the night, plans brew and schemes unfold,
A quiet revolution that keeps its promise cold.
We are not here for chaos; it's peace we seek instead,
For homes where neighbors matter more than status, bread.

This is our call: to cherish, not just possess,
To love the land beyond mere surface dress.
So let the winds of change sweep through with grace,
And may this neighborhood know a face.

But as the dawn breaks and darkness hides once more,
We step back into place and resume our decor.
The game continues, but beneath it all there's truth:
A quiet revolution's been sparked in the youth.

Warmly,
Karen M. Whitmore
HOA Board | PTA Treasurer | ~Wine Mom~
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