Day Number Eight
Finally. Today
The food stops coming.
It goes like this
Sometimes.
I drop in here and there.
And emerge laden with
Bread or fish.
And Jiggs Dinners
Or muffins.
Or jam.
Or frozen berries
Or vegetables
Gently washed.
And passed to me
Like gold
Or diamonds.
They stand
At my backdoor
With lettuce and scones
Or home-made pizza
Wrapped like
Christmas.
Thinking
I’d like this.
And they’ll never
Know how I cry
In gratitude
Later. When alone.
Marlomeda! I think you found it.
ReplyDeleteSo many good things from so many generous people! You're blessed indeed.
ReplyDeleteagain, www, so beautiful - I can't wait. I'll bring you some scones :-)
ReplyDeletea gorgeous place and giving people. It, indeed, appears to be Eden. Just don't take any apples from a snakelike stranger.
ReplyDeleteOh yes, GM, though I'm not blind to the darkness either!
ReplyDeleteXO
WWW
Nick:
ReplyDeleteIt is an extraordinarily generous place, I've never come across anything like it!
XO
WWW
Ah no, Conor, you'll be the guest, I'll have to bring some to you!
ReplyDeleteXO
WWW
Marcia:
ReplyDeleteBut they're the best kind of people! "Snake like people"! Bring 'em on!
XO
WWW
Lovely poem , WWW - as always.
ReplyDeleteSounds as though all the best of true Irish character has settled itself, in concentrated form, in a new location: Newfoundland - and you sniffed it out. I'm happy for you!
;-)
Thank you T - overall I would rate Newfoundlanders happier than the Irish.
ReplyDeleteSome say the Famine had a lot to do with that.
XO
WWW
beautiful poem www.... thank you!
ReplyDeleteThanks Nevin!
ReplyDeleteXO
WWW
The poem is lovely and you are very lucky to live with such generosity and abundance.
ReplyDelete