Some Lines Scrawled on the Door of Vagabond’s House

My father's brother in Houston, TX, my Uncle Mike, emailed me this poem a bit ago and I just rediscovered it in my email archives. It's by Don Blanding (1894-1957), a poet and sometimes called the "poet laureate of Hawaii'. I thought I'd share it- for poetry reading is not a common activity and aside from the looting of foreign cities (unless you count foreign paychecks), I can relate to its sentiment.

Some Lines Scrawled on the Door of Vagabond’s House

West of the sunset stands my house,

There…and east of the dawn;

North to the Arctic runs my yard;

South to the Pole, my lawn;

Seven seas are to sail my ships

To the ends of the earth…beyond;

Drifter’s gold is for me to spend

For I am a vagabond.

Fabulous cities are mine to loot;

Kings of the earth to wed;

Fruits of the world are mine to eat;

The couch of a queen, my bed;

All that I see is mine to keep;

Foolish, the fancy seems

But, I am rich with the wealth of Sight,

The coin of the realm of dreams.