(The men's sand castle building at Point No Point, Summer 2009)
The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon Earth
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity
Emily Dickinson
A more polished tribute will come in a few days, but my aunt Helen said that this poem was running through her head all night. My uncle Jerry died yesterday morning and we're all reeling at the moment at the loss of this zany and loving presence.
Trade Aunt Helen that one for this one:
ReplyDeleteXCVII
EACH that we lose takes part of us;
A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
Is summoned by the tides.
- Emily Dickinson