Tonight as I write, the wind is howling and snow is falling for our first winter storm in Kentucky this year. Every time the mercury falls way below freezing and the icy winds blow, I think of the homeless and pray they find warm shelter.
A poem I learned at school a long, long time ago comes to mind. The Old Woman Of The Roads is the prayer of a homeless woman, longing for a little house to call her own.
The words of this poem will probably resonate through my head until I am old and gray. I couldn't remember the words of a song I heard yesterday if you paid me, but poems from my youth come easily. Perhaps this is because I committed them to memory when I was young. Or perhaps these simple words struck a nostalgic chord in my heart and therefore became part of me.
The Old Woman Of The Roads
Oh to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods upon the fire,
The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains,
And pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
Speckled with white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
Cleaning and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again
My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
Beside the fire and by myself,
Sure of a bed and loath to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,
And roads where there's never a house nor bush,
And tired I am of bog and road,
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
And I am praying Him night and day,
For a little house - a house of my own -
Out of the wind and the rain's way.
By Padraic Colum
Every time I hear these words I think of my Granny's house in County Cork. It was everything the old woman of the roads ever prayed for.
Blue and white willow pattern plates adorned the dresser, a cuckoo clock ticked and chimed, echoing through the warm cottage. The air was tinged with the sweet smell of a turf fire, and an ever-boiling kettle hung on a blackened hook above the lapping flames.
My Granny lived the simple life this old woman yearned for. Perhaps, because I knew every corner of her dream house, this old woman's unfulfilled prayer made me sad as a little girl. Now that I am a grown woman, I am thankful for her lesson. It has made me more aware of the plight of so many homeless people here in America and around the world.
Tonight as the wind blows, and the ice sheets form, I pray that my fellow Kentuckians, who are homeless on this bitter night, may find a place to lay down and rest, out of the wind and the snow's way.
Thanks for following my recipes and ramblings.
Slán agus beannacht,
(Goodbye and blessings)
Irish American Mom
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Grammy
Amen. Beautiful, heartfelt post...should make us all aware of how much excess we have and how little we really need to be happy. Kudos I.A.M. Kudos...
Irish American Mom
Thanks Grammy.
Máire Hickey
Hi Irish Amercian Mom, I am a Primary school teacher in a very small achool near Kells in Co. Meath. My class are learning Padraic Colum's poem. We came across your blog while searching for images of Irish dressers.If you get the chance you might reply as the kids are so excited we are messaging someone in Kentucky! I love your site and will have a look at your recipes when I go home this afternoon. The Old Woman of the Roads was my favourite poem at school.
Le gach beannacht Dé, Máire
Irish American Mom
Dear Máire and all your students in Kells -
I am so happy you found my blog during your website searches. "The Old Woman of the Roads" was my favorite poem when I was at school too. Thank you all so much for adding your comment. It's lovely to hear from you, all the way from Kells. It is amazing how small the world is, and how we can communicate with each other so easily. I often think about how hard it was to communicate with loved ones back home, for those who came to America many years ago. They had to wait many weeks for letters to be delivered. We are so lucky today to have the internet and phones.
Wishing you all every success on your project about Irish dressers, and I am happy to hear Irish school children still learn this lovely poem about "The Old Woman of the Roads."
Best wishes,
Mairéad
Michael O'Callaghan
Hello Maire,
I am originally from Balbriggan, Co Dublin not a stones throw from Kells of which I visited when I was home this past Christmas. Although currently on assignmnet in CA I live in Portsmouth NH. As a boy in school we learned the" Old Woman of the Road's" which has been forever etched into my memory. I believe this poem inspired me to write " Homless Friend. " This is a true story of a friend of mine who lived and died accordingly ".
I found my place beneath a bridge and its here I make my bed, walking roads and fields all day, it's there I rest my head. I rememeber when I was a Dad, with children of my own, who quickly grew, then they flew, and left me on my own. These rushes are my pillows now, torn blankets I sometime's read, my back it hurts and head is worse, as I lay among the weeds. My hands and arms are feeble now, sparse hair upon my head, and teeth have all but left my mouth, to chew on some stale bread.
This night the stars are really bright, which sometime's ease the pain, then the curse and nothing's worse, this bitter cold and rain. Sometime's I hear a voice or two calling friends who look for me, but my clothes are old, odd shoes with holes, in shame I hide from thee. How I came to end like this I can't fully understand, from a home of my own, to living alone, drinking from a can. Oh how I wish that I was clean ans warm inside a bed, Obituaries, from a "Homeless Man", when they find me ill be dead. And how I pray as well I might to a God who watches o'er me, for a helping hand from a "Homeless Man", and bring me safe to he. I found my place under a bridge and here I make my bed, walking road's and fields all day, It's there, I rest my head.
Slan,
A Miceal.
Buachaill Os Eireann.
Irish American Mom
Dear Michael - Thank you so much for stopping by my site and for your wonderful comment. Your poem is a poignant dedication to your friend. When we are warm and cozy in our modern homes, it is very easy to forget those who are less fortunate than ourselves. Thank you for sharing your beautiful words.
Best wishes,
Mairéad
Mary O'Reilly
Dear Irish American Mom. What a coincidence! I am at present in my warm, cosy bed, with my husband sleeping quietly beside me, near Navan, County Meath, just 'up the road' from Kells where your last correspondent teaches! What a small world! Unable to drop off to sleep, the words of MY favourite poem, learned many years ago at school, started running through my head. To my irritation, the two lines following 'And roads where there's never a house or bush' just wouldn't come to mind. I just had to reach out for my iPhone to search the 'world wide web' to get the words and came across your blog and the Kells lady's comment. Sadly, in these days of Internet, iPhones and iPads, there are still many, many homeless people. As our winter is now fast approaching, I pray it will be kind to those less fortunate souls, who, for one reason or another, find themselves without a 'little house' a 'warm, cosy bed' or a safe haven. Sincerely, Mary.
Irish American Mom
Thank you so much, Mary for checking out my blog. As the cold days of winter approach once again, I join you in your prayers for the many who find themselves homeless throughout the world. This little poem we learned at school has left a lasting imprint on us. These simple words have such a deep and meaningful message for all.
Best wishes and thanks for stopping by,
Mairéad
Gideon
Sweet memories of granny, the architect of the universe shall give haven to those in need
Aoife Brennan
Many thanks. I couldn't remember all the words.
Irish American Mom
Hi Aoife - I'm delighted my little blog post helped you out.
All the best,
Mairéad
paddy ryan
Hi i am a countie limerick man with a200 year old cottages my uncle Jim was a great man for storytelling an the old woman of the road was one of his fav
Irish American Mom
Hi Paddy - Thanks for stopping by. Your uncle Jim's choice in poetry was wonderful. This poem is one of my favorites too. Our family has an old farmhouse in North Cork which, like yours, is probably 200 years old. The walls are so thick it's hard to get a mobile phone signal inside.
All the best,
Mairéad
Michael O'Callaghan
The old woman of the roads inspired me to write this piece.
Homeless Friend.
I found my place beneath a bridge
It's here I make my bed
Walking roads and fields all day
It's there, I rest my head.
I remember when I was a dad
With children of my own
Who quickly grew then they flew
And left me on my own..
These rushes are my pillows now
Torn blankets I sometimes read
My back it hurts and head is worse
As I lay among the weeds.
My hands and arms are feeble now
Sparse hair upon my head
And teeth have long but left my mouth
To chew on some stale bread.
This night the stars are really bright
Which sometimes ease the pain
Then the curse and nothing's worse
This bitter cold and rain.
Sometimes I hear a voice or two
Calling friends who look for me
But my clothes are old odd shoes with holes
In shame I hide from thee.
How I came to end like this I can't fully understand
From a home of my own to living alone
Drinking from a can.
Oh how I wish that I was clean
And warm inside a bed
Obituaries, from a Homeless man
When they find me I'll be dead.
And how I pray as well I might
To a God who watched o'er me
For a helping hand for a Homeless man and bring me safe to he.
I found my place beneath a bridge
It's here I make my bed, walking roads and fields all day, it's there, I rest my head.
Irish American Mom
Dear Michael - Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful poem with us here. Your words are a poignant tribute to those who find themselves homeless and alone, especially in their later years. Your words give voice to the emotional tragedy that many face. Thank you for highlighting this plight of isolation that is all too prevalent today.
All the best,
Mairéad
Kathleen
Hello...my mum grew up in Dublin and came to U.S. as a war bride. She said the poem was about an old gypsy woman tired of a life of moving about...don't know if true but she loved the poem.
Irish American Mom
Hi Kathleen - I think your mother's interpretation could be true. The other point of view is that many rural Irish were evicted from their homes in the years after the famine, and took to wandering the roads and living in mud huts. The poem strikes a poignant note for me too. It's message is important to this very day with so many people still homeless despite our economic advances.
Many thanks for stopping by.
All the best,
Mairéad