The solace of sound slumber,
snatched suddenly away,
stolen by silent, stealthy shadows
cast by the setting sun of salad days.
snatched suddenly away,
stolen by silent, stealthy shadows
cast by the setting sun of salad days.
I think that must be 'ill-iteration'. It began by accident; and then I forced it. Still it's written now.
I can't write anything about Ann today. It's a selfish day, today.
3 comments:
Perhaps one day, you will reach a stage, as I did, when you are tired of being sad. And inside you a voice says, as it did to me, she would not want me to be sad for the rest of my life. And then the happy memories crowd upon you and they are separate from the painful memories. I hope so.
I think you deserve a selfish day today.
I'm sorry - I hope I didn't sound prescriptive. You won't always be sad - that has been my experience - but you mustn't expect too much of yourself.
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