Wednesday, November 16, 2011

A Poem, Yellowed and Creased

Dreams are like mist at evening,
Blown in from the cold, gray sea;
A night bird's lonely calling
For things that never can be;
Like down from a thistle passing
On the wings of a summer breeze,
Or the heartache in the murmer
Of whispering, restless trees.
Sometimes, like distant music
Strangely sweet and clear,
I dream I hear you calling,
And feel that you are near.

Mabel Clare Thomas

Note:  I found this poem, yellowed and creased, clipped to an entry in my journal when I was sixteen, long before I had suffered loss of any kind.  It was as if I somehow knew it would be relevant in the years to come.   


judy said...

Beautiful. Just struck me right in the heart tonight. Thank you so much for sharing. ♥ ♥ ♥ judy

Brenda said...

And thank you for commenting, Judy! (It struck me in the heart, too.)

judy said...

I took it to my bereavement group, and they all wanted a copy! It's that pebble tossed in the water effect! thanks again ♥ ♥ ♥ judy

Brenda said...

Thanks, Judy. I'm honored.

All words and pictures © 2008 Brenda G. Wooley