I haven’t been making little houses everyday but I make a couple here and there when I think of it.

I have 25 of them done and since it’s January 29th, that’s almost one a day!

It’s fun to watch this little village grow and the good thing is I keep finding more little scraps of fabric to use.  It would be great not to make the same house twice but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do that.

These houses reminded me of a poem that I found recently that I wanted to share.  I had a part of it for years and loved it and then when I found the whole poem, I loved it even more.  It’s by American poet Edgar Guest who was popular in the early 20th century.

The Home

Write it down that here I labored,
Here I sang and laughed and neighbored;
Here’s the sum of all my story,
Here’s my fortune and my glory;
These four walls and friendly door
Mark the goal I struggled for.
Never mind its present worth,
Here’s one hundred feet of earth
Where the passerby can see
Every dream which came to me.

Write it down: my life uncloses
Here among these budding roses;
In this patch of lawn I’ve tended,
Here is all I’ve counted splendid;
Here’s the goal that’s held me true
To the tasks I’ve had to do.
Here for all the world to scan
Is my secret thought and plan;
Through the long years gone before,
This is what I struggled for.

Write it down, when I have perished:
Here is everything I’ve cherished;
That these walls should glow with beauty
Spurred my lagging soul to duty;
That there should be gladness here
Kept my toiling year by year.
Here in phlox and marigold
Is my every purposed told;
Every thought and every act
Were to keep this home intact.

                                                                                                       Edgar A. Guest