We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage / And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, / We Poets of the proud old lineage / Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why ... (James Elroy Flecker)

10.6.26

Settling


Outside, it’s an overcast, drizzly day. 

I’m warm inside, still in pyjamas.

A lad with a leaf blower is noisy out there.

In here, my small cat and I are cosy, quiet.


I’m warm inside, and still, here in my pyjamas.

All my old longings have quieted with age.

My small cat and I are cosy. Never mind

the world, full of wars and climate disasters.


All my old longings have quieted with age.

The world still has beauty, natural and man-made,

even though it is also full of wars and climate disasters.

I’m bound to leave it in a few years anyway.


Yes, it still has beauty, both natural and man-made:

even that lad with his leaf blower, noisy out there.

Well, I’m bound to leave it in a few years anyway.

Need I care that, outside, it’s overcast and drizzly today? 



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