Winter sky |
I grew up in these hills. I left home as a young adult imagining that if my hills were so beautiful, the rest of the world must also be. It wasn't the case, although there are many other glorious landscapes. But it's in the hills I feel most fully alive, where tree and river and sky meet on
varying planes and with changing moods.
This week I have a humorous poem for you, a poke at one of my foibles.
Destiny
I was born for the
silver spoon
(And the maid to
polish the silver).
Not for me grinding
labours of earning,
The sordid accounting
of gain and expenditure,
Early-to-rising and
sleep as necessity.
No!
I was born to gaze at
the moon ─
It's my pensive,
poetical nature.
I won't sacrifice
talent to theories of learning,
I'll do it my own
way, I won't be confined to
The mill-run of rules for the ordin'ry.
No!
I was born to be
loved and admired.
Wit, elegance, beauty
and manners
Unite in me
nat'rally, freely revealing
The best of my
ancestors'
Qualities brought to
their pinnacle, valued implicitly.
So. . .
Who can tell me what
evil conspired
To keep my identity
hidden?
I must work for a
living, pay bills, cook the meals
Clean my house, keep
a garden ─ a
slave!
Is there ever a
chance to be true to my destiny?
No!
Until next week...
Claire Belberg
I can picture you with a cheeky smile on your face as I read this!
ReplyDeleteAnn Newbery