How come you get hate mail, Cat, what have you done to deserve that? I got quite a hostile PM this morning from someone over in the poetry section. It left me feeling like I'd been hit in the face with a fluffy pillow.
It was only one backslide, secretagent, I've stuck to the agreement since then, even when the little twerp commented on my blog. I will reaffirm out arrangement.
He might not have given it to me, secretagent, but he didn't do anything to prevent me from inadvertently hearing it occasionally. Anyone who hears country music will go to Hell, and you don't even get a chance to repent.
Mourn not my passing when I am gone. For life has favoured me and I have had my due. Let the children grow, take my place and carry on, And so life’s cycle constantly renew.
And when they speak of my earthly dwelling, The lives I touched, the hearts I fed, Bid them hush, his story needs no retelling. What’s past is past, what’s dead is dead.
So when this place I do depart, This mundane patch of earth transcend. Allow no grieving in your heart, I’m only going for a long weekend.
You seem to know what you are talking about, whereas I do not know what I'm talking about. It is, therefore, with some trepidation that I must respectfully disagree with you.
I see the poem as being written by someone who has reason to think they may die in the near future. She wants someone who she has a very close relationship with to think of her as not just being a physical body that may be here today and gone tomorrow. She wants the person to think of their shared memories and the things that meant something to both of them -diamond glints on snow, soft stars that shine at night, etc.- as being her also. I think she is saying that as long as all those things exist, then she will also exist in the mind and heart (if you like) of the other person.
I really don't see it as a poem about being recycled back into the Universe.
Hoober Blog Comments (301)
RE: Oversensitivity
Ah, you need a patterdale for that.