The mixing bells and palls

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L o o k   A w a y   A n g e l

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

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Upon Concluded Lives

There's nothing cooler falls --

Than Life's sweet Calculations --

The mixing Bells and Palls --

Makes Lacerating Tune --

To Ears the Dying Side --

'Tis Coronal -- and Funeral --

Saluting -- in the Road --

= Emily Dickinson =

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Happy Saturday

Leave the flowers for the crown

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R e f l e c t i n g

Hopelands Gardens

Aiken, South Carolina

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I said, "Let me walk in the fields."

He said, "No, walk in the town."

I said, "There are no flowers there."

He said, "No flowers, but a crown."

I said, "But the skies are black;

There is nothing but noise and din."

And He wept as He sent me back:

"There is more," He said; "there is sin."

I said, "But the air is thick,

And fogs are veiling the sun."

He answered, "Yet souls are sick,

And souls in the dark undone."

I said, "I shall miss the light,

And friends will miss me, they say."

He answered, "Choose tonight,

If I am to miss you, or they."

I pleaded for time to be given.

He said, "Is it hard to decide?

It will not seem hard in heaven

To have followed the steps of your Guide."

I cast one look at the fields,

Then set my face to the town:

He said, "My child, do you yield?

Will you leave the flowers for the crown?"

Then into His hand went mine,

And into my heart came He;

And I walk in a light divine

The path I had feared to see.

= George MacDonald =

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Happy Friday

As if her pride knew no limits

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Q u i e t  P r i d e

Macedonia Evangelical Lutheran Church Cemetery

Prosperity, South Carolina

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My mother would be a falconress,

and I her gerfalcon raised at her will,

from her wrist sent flying, as if I were her own

pride, as if her pride

knew no limits, as if her mind

sought in me flight beyond the horizon.

= Robert Duncan =

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Happy Thursday

Quiet at the core

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T o   a   T

Glenwood Cemetery

Tupelo, Mississippi

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Repulse the staring eye,
The hostile gaze of hate,
And check the pedantry
Of those inveterate

Defamers of the good.
They mock the deepest thought,
Condemn the fortitude
Whereby true work is wrought.

Though just men are reviled
When cravens cry them down,
The brave keep undefiled
A wisdom of their own.

The bold wear toughened skin
That keeps sufficient store
Of dignity within,
And quiet at the core.

= Theodore Roethke =

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Happy Wednesday

A mother's life

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M o o r e d   S a f e

Laurel Grove Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

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Children are the anchors of a mother's life.

= Sophocles =

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Happy Tuesday