Whose words these are I think I know.
My mind is on to pillage though;
To find something for blogging clear
Some thoughts that matter, not for show.
My blogmates all must think it queer
To see a poem this time here
With so much news of fraud and fake,
And daily tales of more to fear.
But now I think it’s time to wake
And trust there might be some mistake.
To hope somewhere beyond the sweep
There will be peace for all God’s sake.
We know what’s out there’s dark and deep.
And if we choose we all could weep,
But I prefer to pause to reap,
The promises men swore to keep.
*****
Of all the words Frost did compose.
The ones that hit it on the nose,
For how to live amid the whirl,
Are those his tombstone did unfurl:
“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.”
Not a bad philosophy for all that’s about us these days.
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Posts
Says it all as well as anyone, Jeff.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Michael. Can't wait to see you in Bristol to commiserate in person.
DeleteI live by the woods. The ravens wood. It has ....ravens. And they are wise. But they can't write poetry. Thank goodness.
ReplyDeleteNo need to crow about it.
Delete