They Were Young Once

October 1st, 2006 Posted in Uncategorized

MidgePeter2.jpg These are my grandparents, Peter and Midge. I never ever, EVER saw this side of them. My grandfather was a judge, who was mostly stern, although not unkind, and my grandmother was a sweet, but very proper lady, and I certainly never saw her up in the air with her hair down.

Where did this couple go by the time I came along??

I had a great time, and met some really wonderful people last night. I have the best family! I left my camera up in my room, but hopefully someone else took pictures and will send me copies. For now, here is a poem by Shelley about the passage of time. It’s called Ozymandias.

It’s a warning. Hoist your loved ones into the sky while you can!!

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear —
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

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  1. 2 Responses to “They Were Young Once”

  2. By Betsy on Oct 2, 2006

    That poem is one of my Dad’s favorites. I thought you might like this one by Jane Kenyon since sharing poetry is always fun.

    Otherwise

    I got out of bed
    on two strong legs.
    It might have been
    otherwise. I ate
    cereal, sweet
    milk, ripe, flawless
    peach. It might
    have been otherwise.
    I took the dog uphill
    to the birch wood.
    All morning did
    the work I love.

    At noon I lay down
    with my mate. It might
    have been otherwise.
    We ate dinner together
    at a table with silver
    candlesticks. It might
    have been otherwise.
    I slept in a bed
    in a room with paintings
    on the walls, and
    planned another day
    just like this day.
    But one day, I know,
    it will be otherwise.

  3. By Stacy Horn on Oct 3, 2006

    That is my favorite kind of poem – a reminder that all of this could disappear in a second. Thank you!

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