The road is wide and the stars are out <br />and the breath of the night is sweet, <br />And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet. <br />But I'm glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my face, <br />And to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a human dwelling place. <br /> <br />I never have seen a vagabond who really liked to roam <br />All up and down the streets of the world and not to have a home: <br />The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at break of day <br />Will wander only until he finds another place to stay. <br /> <br />A gypsy-man will sleep in his cart with canvas overhead; <br />Or else he'll go into his tent when it is time for bed. <br />He'll sit on the grass and take his ease so long as the sun is high, <br />But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the sky. <br /> <br />If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him wrong, <br />For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his home along. <br />And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows, <br />Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes. <br /> <br />They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years, <br />And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears. <br />It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad and far, <br />But at last it leads to a golden Town where golden Houses are.<br /><br />Alfred Joyce Kilmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roofs-3/
