A Poem, sent by Hillary...

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I Am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
  My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes;
  They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am- I live -though I am toss'd
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
  Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
  But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that's dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange - nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod-
  For scenes where  woman never smiled or wept-
There to abide with my Creator, God,
  And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,-
The grass below; above, the vaulted sky. 

                          John Clare (1793-1864)

I think she's lonely.


  1. beautiful poem! I want to be there, too.

  2. You may well be right, Randall, and I hope we get to see her a little at Christmas.

  3. I hope so too.

    It's still early days for a new life in a new country.


Play nice - I will delete anything I don't want associated with this blog and I will delete anonymous comments.

Copyright Randall Friesen. Powered by Blogger.