Post by Anglo SaxonPost by marcusPost by Anglo SaxonI'm not saying get off my lawn. Just saying goodbye, I guess.
Friends dying...that's tough to take as well.
I'm not quite there yet, just lucky my friends are kicking strong. It's
my family right now are the ones who are dying and it's really, really
hard to take. We were a true tribe. A f'd-up one, yes, but a bonded
tribe. 12 of us altogether. Mom, Dad, two brothers and both their wives
are gone now. The wives were like sisters in the fambly. And the next
one brother going down probably soon, he's not sick but come on. We all
know what's going on now. Grim. There's an old poem, "Last Leaf on the
Tree".
The Last Leaf
by Oliver Wendell Holmes
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said--
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago--
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
--
numerist at aquaporin4 dot com
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