Re: November, the Last - Poem (David)
- Hi David
Know what you mean old son but looking back on what was and what might have been is a fruitless exercise.
We castigate ourselves with "if only" but it's too late, the horse has bolted and we are left with an empty stable, but wait, what is that I see on the horizon, as fine a filly as ever there was, fresh as a daisy and raring to go.
Methinks I'll coax her with a bowl of warm mash liberally sprinkled with Molasses, then once inside my stable I'll secure the door and prepare her for a bright future with a new master to ride into a sunrise of delights.
Lush green meadows and sweet water from a rippling brook.
The past will be forgotten, the present will be an exciting introduction to a future laden with agreeable wonderment.
I am reminded of Macbeth:
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
David I trust your future seasons will bring you happiness and more poetry to enrich this site.