I love slow Sunday mornings. I was catching up on my Mary Janes Farm emails and read this poem. I fell in love instantly! Hope you enjoy!
The House at the End of the Road
by Shirley Jean Pierce, Florida
adapted from Sam Walter Foss' poem, The House by the Side of the Road, 1897
There are gentle souls that give each day
With the peace of talents spent.
There are souls, like stars, that dwell to shine
In their loved ones' sweet content.
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths,
The wagon ruts still call -
But let me live at the end of the road
And make a home for all.
Let me live in a house at the end of the road
Where the walk of life draws nigh -
Where folks who work hard and have calloused hands,
As good and as bad as I,
Can live and not judge another's heart
Or cast a critic's eye
Let me live in a house at the end of the road
And open my door to the sky.
I see from my house at the end of the road,
The rolling fields of life,
I see women who press with the ardor of hope,
Their aprons stained with strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears -
Both part of the infinite plan;
Let me live in the house at the end of the road
And be to all a kind woman.
I know there are lark-filled meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height,
There are gardens to tend and children to mend
And day simply turns into night.
But still I rejoice when my sisters rejoice,
And weep with the women who moan,
With the dream of a farm at the end of the road
For a little girl too quickly grown.
Let me live in my house at the end of the road
And welcome the women who try -
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I look with a critic's eye
Or judge another's call?
Let me live in a house at the end of the road
And make a home for all.
