This is the age of speed and connectivity – of wired and wireless, texts and tweets. In a world of constant sending and receiving, of posting and pinning, where is there place for prose or a poem?

Many places!

There are souls who long to unplug; to turn down a lane less frequently travelled. A place where the woods seldom if ever hear the noise of man. A place where light is filtered through a canopy of trees that hold the fragerence of a thousand blossoms; where weathered means character and beauty is abundant.

For the soul who still finds solace in the hidden spaces, the poem still pricks their tender places.

A couple of stanzas from one of my favorites:

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 scourner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban –
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road-
It’s here 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 be a friend to man.
–Sam Walter Foss

One thought on “The Poem

  1. Couldn’t agree more!
    About the only time I really get excited or feel anticipation these days is when I’ve geared up and headed for the forest.
    Being in the wind, away from the noise and hubbub, touches something undefinable…

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