Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Alfred Housman, thanks for being so optimistic. 🙂

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piece by piece

June 18, 2008

we write our regrets in anger
we contemplate our lives all too slow
we drown our happiness with laughter
we complicate things a little more

emptiness comes to haunt us today
yet the presence of love fuels our hopes

the past recurring, the future uncertain
such distorted lives we lead
at long last come together piece by piece
under our gravestones with finality.