(my apologies to Robert Frost for bastardizing the title of his poem)
Just dropping in to make sure I write something tonight. Been mega-busy these last two days, but I couldn’t let a weekday go by without at least a word. And since I started with poetry, well, sort of, let me leave you with my favorite poem by W.B. Yeats. I haven’t touched Gabriel’s Angel in weeks–and it’s been reminding me regularly–but this is the poem my next completed book will have been based on.
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.