Sunday, 12 November 2017
Saturday, 11 November 2017
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined — just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around:
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the drummer never knew —
Fresh from his Wessex home —
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow up some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
Posted by †Seán Manchester at 03:11
Thursday, 2 November 2017
A time to pray for departed souls
Whom we sometimes see, if at all,
Amid moonlit mist-laden rolls
Of memory's toll of those who fall
Away to somewhere not here,
And somewhere not above,
Nor below; nowhere to fear.
Yet pray for those you love.
Posted by †Seán Manchester at 02:00