Third night of August already! But what's happened to my Winter?!?!? I was happy with Autumn and it's rolling fogs and chill winds. Raking leaves and stoking fires - a whole new world for us.
Now, though, SYD has summer temperatures and here on the Edge, the campfire serves more to keep snakes away than to warm the extremities of friendly wine-imbibers. It's still a pleasant ambiance though.
It's funny, but each time I hear the weather person talk of "lovely weather for Winter", I want to interrupt them and point out that it's pretty aberrant and may presage dire times acumen in! You all know me.
Anyway, tonight's offering comes from this super moon that keeps hanging around. She reminded me of a little poem by Michael Leunig, whose popularity has waned somewhat with the rise of the PC and Cancel-culture crowds. Nevertheless, I like this poem for its message, as well as its rhyme and rhythm - two attributes of more traditional poetry. I'll not enter into arguments about which is best - free or formal. They're both sources of joy and wonder.
Read this poignant little poem out loud, while standing in the dark under the lunatic gaze of Diana, poem in one hand, old chipped cup of red wine in the other. Pay attention to the punctuation - this is not a poem to race through.
All my father left me by Michael Leunig
"When I'm dead, it's yours," he said.
And all too soon his will was read.
But he continued speaking from the grave:
"It will not save you, this moon I gave you,
from sadness, human madness, life and death.
But step outside into the night and take a breath,
And while you do, for what it's worth,
that happy man up there who got away from earth,
will smile at you."
No comments:
Post a Comment