Showing posts with label W.H. Auden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W.H. Auden. Show all posts
Monday, July 13, 2015
Hedgebrook, Day Nineteen
'Healing'
Papa would tell me,
is not a science,
but the intuitive art of wooing Nature.
- from Auden's poem The Art of Healing (In memoriam David Proteach, M.D.)
You are in another state, I know, but I think I saw you
last night as the sun went down
sandwiched between clouds, reaching its pink arms up
through the leftover blue
a solitary person in a boat
rowing out toward the middle
and this morning I thought I heard you
stirring up the birds
your low voice carried
through the pines.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Sunday
I'll love you dear, I'll love you till China and Africa meet and the
river jumps over the mountain and the salmon sing in the street.
W.H. Auden
Labels:
me,
photos,
poetry,
Sophie and Oliver,
W.H. Auden
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