Tuesday
May262015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015 at 04:44AM
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D a y I s N e a r l y D o n e
Fort Jackson National Cemetery
Columbia, South Carolina
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If the hands of time
Were hands that I could hold
I'd keep them warm and in my hands
They'd not turn cold
Hand in hand we'd choose
The moments that should last
The lovely moments that should have
No future and no past
The summer from the top of a swing
The comfort in the sound of a lullaby
The innocence of leaves in the spring
But most of all the moment
When love first touched me
All the happy days
Would never learn to fly
Until the hands of time
Would choose to wave goodbye.
= Bergman / Bergman =
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Happy Tuesday
Monday
May252015
With noises sweet
Monday, May 25, 2015 at 04:44AM
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I H e a r d T h a t
Laurelwood Cemetery
Rock Hill, South Carolina
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The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples -- three stark swarthy arms -- are thrust
Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust --
Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships --
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet
And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space
Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three;
From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze.
Three steeples -- three stark swarthy arms -- are thrust
Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust --
Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships --
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet
And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space
Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three;
From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze.
= Lizette Woodworth Reese =
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Happy Monday
Sunday
May242015
Let rocks their silence break
Sunday, May 24, 2015 at 04:44AM
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S a c r e d S p a c e s
Beaufort National Cemetery
Beaufort, South Carolina
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My country, 'tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing
Land where my fathers died
Land of the pilgrims' pride
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring.
My native country, thee
Land of the noble free
Thy name I love
I love thy rocks and rills
Thy woods and templed hills
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song
Let mortal tongues awake
Let all that breathe partake
Let rocks their silence break
The sound prolong.
Our fathers' God to Thee
Author of liberty
To Thee we sing
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light
Protect us by Thy might
Great God our King.
Grand birthright of our sires
Our altars and our fires
Keep we still pure
Our starry flag unfurled
The hope of all the world
In peace and light impearled
God hold secure.
= Samuel F. Smith =
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Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord;
and the people whom he hath chosen
for his own inheritance.
Psalm 33:12
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Happy Sunday
Saturday
May232015
Then how the grief got sleepy
Saturday, May 23, 2015 at 04:44AM
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S t o n y V i g i l
Elmwood Cemetery
Memphis, Tennessee
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If I may have it, when it's dead,
I'l be contented -- so --
If just as soon as Breath is out
It shall belong to me --
Until they lock it in the Grave,
'Tis Bliss I cannot weigh --
For tho' they lock Thee in the Grave,
Myself -- can own the key --
Think of it Lover! I and Thee
Permitted -- face to face to be --
After a Life -- a Death -- We'll say --
For Death was That --
And this -- is Thee --
I'll tell Thee All -- how Bald it grew --
How Midnight felt, at first -- to me --
How all the Clocks stopped in the World --
And Sunshine pinched me -- 'Twas so cold --
Then how the Grief got sleepy -- some --
As if my Soul were deaf and dumb --
Just making signs -- across -- to Thee --
That this way -- thou could'st notice me --
I'll tell you how I tried to keep
A smile, to show you, when this Deep
All Waded -- We look back for Play,
At those Old Times -- in Calvary.
Forgive me, if the Grave come slow --
For Coveting to look at Thee --
Forgive me, if to stroke thy frost
Outvisions Paradise!
= Emily Dickinson =
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Happy Saturday
Friday
May222015
And vanity her footfall light
Friday, May 22, 2015 at 04:44AM
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W i g g e d O u t
J's Mega Mart :: South Gay Street
Knoxville, Tennessee
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The moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
Believing every word I said,
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she'd not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that Love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
Believing every word I said,
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she'd not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that Love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
= William Butler Yeats =
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Happy Friday