Is there somewhere

—anywhere—

a little lonesome cabin

lost among the forests

on a wild, deserted shore;

an empty little cabin:

rough hewn, worn, and solid

with a dandy drawing chimney,

books, and windows—nothing more?

I’m tired of noise and traffic,

people pushing, phones and letters,

dates and deadlines, styles and headlines,

pride and pretense, nothing more;

and I’m needing such a cabin,

near God’s masterpiece of mountains—

such a lost and lonesome cabin

where a tired soul can adore.

 

Taken by permission from Legacy of a Pack Rat, by Ruth Bell Graham. 

©1989 The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.