Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann’d: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
I had in mind something else to write about, but hey, a lie-in until 9.20am. And not just a lie but an actual sleep.
No biggie, you may be thinking? But walk 6 months in my moccasins, and you’ll get the drift.
He often gets me up early doors, and often that’ll be me awake and chipper (ish). Or he’ll go back to bed but still be up before it’s light and expecting me to follow suit.
This morning? Whoa, what a treat. I let him out ( and he went quietly without waking the hood) at around 5am. That was cool, no probs, but then we settled back down and knew nothing until after 9 am. Yikes! That’s a first.
When we did go out, the sunshine in a blue sky was waiting for us. The car had defrosted, and it was pretty mild all things considered.
Himself took the lead, and after inspecting some greenery came back to the car waiting for his chauffeur to get his steps ( caravan steps, that he needs to get in the back seat, or boot, whichever takes his fancy at that particular moment)
We head off and see/hear Santa and his brass band playing in The Square. ‘ In the bleak mid winter ‘no less. Words by the ever wonderful Christina Rossetti.
Out of the car and passing other peeps here and there, a smile, a ‘ hey’ or ‘good morning’ in one case a brief chat at the abundance of scarlet berries and another around why the Catkins are out.( We had no idea) It was lovely. The grass under our feet heavy with dew and sparkled in the sun. Surreal, explains it best. To be rested is sublime.
It’s possible once upon a time if I had heard the word poetry, I’d be ambivalent or worse if the idea of a dusty ol’ Shakespeare sprang to mind. But if Edward Lear, Spike Milligan or Roald Dahl were mentioned I’d sit up..So maybe I’d always felt something as a younger soul?
The most beautiful Lesuire by W.H. Davies has been on my radar for a very long time, and Emily Dickinson and Sara Teasdale, amongst others certainly stir me.
In the bleak mid winter ( once titled A Christmas Carol) by Christina Rossetti began life as a poem…and then became a Christmas carol. I love this, the words, the music. My favourite to hear at that time of the year. ( In fact, I’ll let you into a secret, I find myself humming this tune all year found) So haunting.
Christine’s brother Dante Gabriel and the Pre Raphelites have fascinated me for decades along with William Morris, my hero. But I digress.
DP asked what we do to relax…I thumb through endless poetry books and search sites to feed my appetite for words from a time gone by for poems that resonate. Bliss.
IN THE BOOMER PIGEON HOLE? 