May my life never be so sadly arranged that I can’t enjoy a fresh snow.
When I am able may I have a child to chase me around the trees making great pathways and snow angels.
When I have no child may I hike up the hill sweating and panting against the gentle resistance of persistent snow drifts.
When I am deaf and feeble may I set my chair before the window and marvel at the lace and crystal covered trees.
When I am blind and too frail to venture out,
may I rise up just once in the night,
open the door, and stand for a moment
to feel winter’s vast silence on my skin.
Hurray for your blog !
ReplyDeleteYou do write beautifuly.
This particular text is very reminiscent of one of Robert Frost's poems to me, the one called "Stopping by woods on a snowy evening". Have you heard of it?
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
I like writing poems myself, but usually in French though. The poetical thought is a hard state to reach outside of your native language.
Be sure I am going to check your blog very regularly.
With much love,
Caroline