The Men that Don’t Fit In
by Robert W. Service
There’s A race of men that don’t fit in, A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far, They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead, In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
is a summer night with warm skies and stars that merge with sunset. My windows are open, the breeze is cool, and the sounds of the world are far away. The darkness is quiet and the shadows sing a lullaby to the hours. Prayer is easy, sleep is good, and morning will come, but this time is where I would place eternity if I had the power.
Just a wild guess in an arena that I often read about but seldom prognosticate. The recent information that someone in the administration has been offering jobs to two opponents of administration selected candidates to get them to drop out of the race will play out this way. Former President Clinton, who is alleged to have offered one of the positions, will make a public statement, with deep empathy, admitting his role. His wife, now Secretary of State, will soon after resign due to her “sadness” over the failed promise of the Obama administration. She gets the credibility of being a voice of good government even in the face of her own party, the foreign policy cred that comes with being Secretary of State, and two years distance between her resignation and the next election. He, that is former President Clinton, is none the worse for wear because he already is tainted but people still like him and expect nothing higher of him AND gets to payback his wife with the best gift of all, power, in trade for how many anonymous women X still remain.
Or maybe I should just take off my tin foil hat. Who knows? But that many of you will be thinking, “It could be…” shows how far things have slid down the chute.
and even the silence appears to be sleeping. Its shadows are one place where thoughts can be heard and the quiet can be mined for its hidden eloquence.
Many years ago my clock was set and it was set towards evening. If I had my day as I wish it I would rise early, nap in the middle and then spend the hours until midnight pursuing the tasks of life. Alas, there is no siesta in Minnesota, no rest in the heat of the day. We are mad dogs and Englishmen, up early, off to work, and out in the noonday sun.
In a short while I will be asleep, there is a tiredness in my face that calls me to bed. Yet for a moment I will hang on to this night and its serene darkness as my world awaits the morning.
and everything seems two weeks ahead of its season. Gardens are surging and dragging their owners behind them. Trees are as green as May with days still left in April. We can sleep at night with open windows.
Some time ago, perhaps as I realized I was growing older, I lost the charm of winter. Christmas saves the cold and fills it with a kind of purpose but there is more to winter then Christmas and the weeks that follow are chilly and wet without redemption. I am here because I must but there is no desire within to live half the year trapped in layers of clothing and the walls of a house.
So I cherish spring, which I have learned to love with the passing of time. Its skies, its life, even the rains are the taste of good things to come and what joy to let the furnace rest. Soon I will play music on the porch. Soon I will weed the garden in the evening sun. Soon I will drive with the windows open and the sounds of everywhere flowing in. Soon I will feel the grass beneath my feet and hear the wind blowing in the warmth of night.
I think that much of we are fed as “news” is, in its own way, a kind of pornography.
The new car, a little odd, thrifty, and remarkably practical.
A Sunday school teacher asked, “Johnny, do you think Noah did a lot of fishing when he was on the Ark ?”
“No,” replied Johnny. “How could he, with just two worms.”
If you own a Toyota you can now drive like a maniac and beat the ticket by blaming it on the car…
the world will end in 2012. Why the delay?