Tuesday, July 26, 2016

A House By the Side of a Road

The House 

by the Side 

of the Road

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;
But let me live by the side of the road
And write letters to man.

Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And write letters to man.

I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears
Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And write letters to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by.
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish--so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And write letters to man.
by Sam Walter Foss (and tweaked some by me)


Here I go Flow-ing again. They have something for everyone; from the oldest to my youngest pen friend, Davia. Her favorite color is pink. She graduated from drawings to actual letters--that's how long we've kept in touch. I hope she likes my Christmas in July gift.

These paper houses had to have been made for us.

Yes, I wanted in on the fun too. Naturally, right? 

These are for Davia. Shh. Don't tell. There's a little village! Why aren't there girls at each house? Surely they don't live together  and take care of the same house by the side of Keyboard Road in Limnersville?

Here's hoping Davia's cut and paste skills are better than mine. Thinking paper cement would be better for the oops moments wasn't one of my better thinks. I colored their faces lovely colors; the laundry is actually bunting. Bet you didn't know that! See? There's always a reason to write a letter and tell a story. Keep summer mail on its legs. Send something. Write something. I'll keep an eye out for ya'.



  1. I hope you got my last two letters , I was wondering ... the other day if you did . I sure hope so . anyways love the lil houses they are darling just darling . Well may the Good Lord watch over you and yours .

  2. Is this the new issue of Flow? Those houses are adorable, especially with the clothesline as backdrop! And that poem is one of my favorites - I have a glass-painted- framed antique picture with one of the stanzas on it.
    My grandmother loved this poem and she often invited soldiers to dinner during the war.

    1. No, no, no. They're from one of the paper lover's books. I almost gave them away but could not think of anyone who might want them. I thought of the girls next door. Then thought of my little pen friend. :) Everything has a purpose, yes? I have yet to decide who gets the clothesline "bunting" address but am pleased to hear you like it.

      I've loved that poem since I was a girl. Your grandmother sounds like a lovely woman. :)