This Little Road Leads Home
By James Larkin Pearson
9/13/1879 - 8/27/1981
I know a little crooked road that runs along the ridges
And dodges in and out among the maples and the pines
And crosses little singing brooks on little wooden bridges
And measures off the little miles with little wooden signs.
The little road I have in mind, about which you are reading
Is not the crowded way that leads into the city's heart;
But out among the farming lands is where the road is leading
Where nature has the upper hand and there's but little Art.
The farm is not commercialized and run for making money,
Where barns are full of blooded stock and tractors pull the plow;
But just a little private home built where it's warm and sunny,
With garden and potato patch, some chickens and a cow.
And these remarks are uttered here to call the world's attention
To just a little patch of ground adjacent to my door;
To show that common little things are worth a poet's mention
And full of tender beauty that we never saw before.
A field of corn in summer time can shoot to beat the Germans;
A peach is better than a prayer - or just as good, at least,
A pine can tell me finer tales and preach me better sermons
Than ever fell from creeded lips of parson or of priest.
The ants are early out to work, for they are good providers
In storing up the scattered wheat and other tiny seeds;
And all about the stubble-field the small plantation spiders
Have spun their little sailing ships upon their sea of weeds.
September morning when the dew is heavy on the grasses,
That master alchemist, the sun, turns everything to gold
The belts of fog along the creek are banked in shining masses
And of the splendor of the hills the half was never told.
The early birds in happy pairs are thick upon the fences
Or hopping in the faded grass to find a bite to eat.
The odor from the fodder field is magic to the senses
The voices of the calling quail are wonderfully sweet.
I never need to journey to the lands beyond the ocean
Nor yet among the mountains and the valleys of the West;
For I have found a little place to center my devotion
And life among my native hills is happiest and best.