Sometimes the best sentiments are
wrapped in the fine verse of a poem.
Earlier today I was looking up a poem
by Phillip Larkin called "This Be the Verse,"
a rather sad bit about why you should not have
kids. My favorite lines of that poem are:
"Man hands down misery to man
It deepens like a coastal shelf
Get out as early as you can
And don't have any kids yourself"
The poem was brilliant, but left me craving
something with a slightly rosier hue.
And then I found this beautiful bit.
Enjoy the richness of it, read it aloud, letting
the syrupy language glide off your tongue.
The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.
Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.
The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying
And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.
-Louis MacNeice
