HEREDITY
(A poem by Thomas Hardy)
I am the family face
Flesh perishes, I live on
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
And leaping from place to place
Over oblivion
The years-heired feature that can
In curve and voice and eye
Despise the human span
Of durance - that is I,
The eternal thing in man
That heeds no call...
.... to die
***********************
My Ouma's doilies
Hand made with care when eyesight was stronger
Tiny stitches of love and patience
Weaved within and without
I said good bye to her
Long before I began to stitch and sew
I wonder now.... does she look on and know?
As we ladies make
Do we not create for those who can't?
Are we stitching and painting and writing for the angels?
2 comments:
oh you lovely woman.....i think your last sentence is perfection. i think of my grandmother every day as i sew...stitching for the angels. she made me quilts that i didn't appreciate until after she was gone. and she left a handmade wedding gift that my grandfather gave me 3 years after her death. thank you for this loveliness.
Just beautiful....i have the gardening gift from my Mum who passed far too young...i often think about her when im in the garden and sharing with my little girl what she taught me xx
Post a Comment