HOPE

There is a house upon a hill / That was built with forty doors. / The man who built it is living still / On one of the upper floors.

He was rather young when he laid the first stone / And the locals just called him a fool. / "It'll never work," they would mock and moan / "The concept is just not cool."

"There'll be too many gaps for the wind that blows cold." / "There'll be wastage of heat by the score." / "The walls will be weak." "The roof will grow mould." / "Dry rot will come up through the floor."

So he took their jibes with a heart and a half / And treated it all as fun / As he built every door of his house with a laugh / And a window to match every one.

Then came the time when the locals were struck / By a view of their hill in the night. / The man had moved in, and they all had to look / For each window had filled up with light.

They walked the dark road that led up the hill / And tapped every door they could find / "Come in and sit down," said the man, "eat your fill, / And leave all your cares behind."

"There are doors for the large, the medium and small, / By foot or by wheel, fast or slow, / Whatever your tastes there are doors to suit all / As you please you may come and may go."

So they arrived from all the surrounds / To join in whatever went on. / There was feasting and dance and most magical sounds / And every one felt they belonged.

And they praised this symbol of hope with a cheer / And the man declared to rapturous applause: / "It is you who bring hope on entering here, / This house with its forty doors."

-- Anonymous, October 04, 2001