Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme / of things not found within recorded time.
A Martyr born in our defence, /
Can man forget the story?
One week to go…
Though I walk in the valley of darkness, I fear no evil, for you are with me.
It would have been our (great-)grandmother 105th birthday this week.
This is possibly the saddest poem I have ever read.
“How do I feel? Well, I don’t know how to say it. I feel, I feel, I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!”
I know it’s not Holy Week, but this is just too beautiful to wait for half a year or so to post it.
Here’s something a bit more contemplative.
Did you know that none of Edward Taylor’s poetry was published until 1939?