My patch of garden

There is a small patch of grass, it lies at the front of my house like a welcoming mat. I mow it when I can, and water it when rain doesn't come. A single rose grows to the left, as if the beauty is a grim defiance to the unrelenting world. So maybe my patch cannot compare in size, to the trees so tall that they touch the skies. The beauty shines through when the weather is fine, And I don't care what you think of this patch that is mine.