Thanks, Patrick.
Up there with:
I LOOK into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, “Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!”
For then, I, undistrest 5
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
With equanimity.
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide; 10
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
The End
Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.
[I especially like ‘The End’.]
Max in Seattle
On Jul 22, 2015, at 1:35, Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> LOOK
>
> that cold
> bleak morning
> facing soon
> becoming an
> octogenarian
> he took
> a long hard
> critical look
> at himself
> in the cruel
> unforgiving
> fly specked
> cracked mirror
> with it's harsh
> bright neon
> overhead light
> and was forced
> reluctantly
> to admit
> how really
> absolutely
> terrific he
> looked
>
>
> pmcmanus
> r814
> I rather enjoyed using the clichés here -do they work?
> then giving unexpected finish :-)
>
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