Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my three score years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
A.E. HOUMAN, from A SHROPSHIRE LAD
Now, for the tea to sip while reading this lovely piece of language, I might suggest Silver Rain White Tea or Sky Between the Branches White tea. They sound like poems, don't they?
2 comments:
I love what you have to say about reading poetry. Goes right along with an early teaching I received to the effect (obvious though it is)that one cana't read poetry the way one reads prose. Time and concentration, and I would add, a letting go of the left side of the brain are needed.
I also love your poetry. It would be interesting to get some kind of discussion going about the philosophy and/or purpose and/or subconscious that induces one to put down verse (as opposed to prose.
You're a true inspiration!
Kay, This poem feeds me well today. So much is going on, so I can hardly read a poem. But, I read it and my brain clicked on and the poem set my heart at ease. Don't think I've lost my mind, but I actually through I would print the poem and walk down into my garden and read it to my cherry trees. They bloomed their hearts out for me last spring.
Thanks for your poem a day. I will read.
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