Dear Reader,
A very strange thing happened to me last week. I woke up in the night at about 3am and there was a voice in my head reciting the poem that I am posting today. I got up to write it down because I know that lots of ideas I have in the night have vanished in the morning. This voice reciting to me has happened once before, many years ago and my poem as a result: 'The Mind Cupboard' is very much a favourite of yours. I don't know where the voice comes from but suspect it is my Guardian Angel. Or it could be the Good Lord Himself. Obviously I was thinking about the Christian faith this week, Holy Week, and always get unsettled on Good Friday thinking of the Crucifixion. There are more things under this heaven than we know about, and I certainly know that several things that have happened in my life have not been understood by me at all.
The Promised Land
I cannot see the distant place
It’s out of reach for me. I cannot see the distant place,
misting to the sea.
I cannot hear the singing birds
or see the mountain range,
I cannot speak my Christian name
since my body starts to change.
I will not know what happens next,
Or, where I might be,
I cannot see the distant place
It’s out of reach for me.
As I drift into the Promised Land
Lord and Saviour, hold my hand.
I am not sure whether this was meant for the people of Ukraine or for anyone nearing the end of their life.
*
From Gilbert White, 1786 in Hampshire
'Hay is become very scarce and dear indeed. My rick is now as slender as the waist of a virgin; and it would have been much for the reputation of the last two brides that I have married, had their waists been as slender....The first swallow that I heard of was on April 6th, the first nightingale April 13th. The great straddle-bob, Orion, that in the winter seems to bestride my brew-house, is seen now descending of an evening, on one side foremost behind the hangar.'
*
I hope you all have a wonderful Easter holiday
and very best wishes, Patricia
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