mandag, mai 29, 2006


I used to think that grown-up people chose
To have stiff backs and wrinkles round their nose,
And veins like small fat snakes on either hand,
On purpose to be grand.
Till through the banister I watched one day
My great-aunt Etty's friend who was going away,
And how her onyx beads had come unstrung.
I saw her grope to find them as they rolled;
And then I knew that she was helplessly old,
As I was helplessly young.

----- Frances Cornford

4 kommentarer:

kimananda sa...

That is beautiful...and I'm feeling more the helplessly old, myself. Where are you in this poem?

Jemima sa...

So true and so tragic.

HB sa...

Kimananda: closer to helplessly old, yes. Though there's no doubt that children and old people are helpless in ways that healthy adults are not. As I was reminded of yesterday, when I saw my father totter across the floor with his walker (he's 83).

jvc: Thanks for visiting:-)

Anonym sa...

this poem is what i'm doing for a project in school can anyone write an analysis for me. pleeeease