Dr. Weeks Comment: there are friends and then there are friends who like poetry… Happy am I to have met a new friend:
“Anyway, the poem that started all this adventure is entitled “It Is Enough” by Anne Alexander Bingham. Here it is
It Is Enough
To know that the atoms
of my body
to think of them rising
through the roots of a great oak
to live in
leaves, branches, twigs
perhaps to feed the
the blue iris
or rest on water
freeze and thaw
with the seasons
some atoms might become a
bit of fluff on the wing
of a chickadee
to feel the breeze
know the support of air
and some might drift
up and up into space
star dust returning from
whence it came
it is enough to know that
as long as there is a universe
I am a part of it.
“It Is Enough” by Anne Alexander Bingham. Reprinted with permission of the family.
what started it all was this one, a gem from the deepest heart of famous balladeer who rarely spoke from his own heart.
Shielaby Robert William ServiceWhen I played my penny whistle on the braes above Lochgyle
The heather bloomed about us, and we heard the peewit call;
As you bent above your knitting something fey was in your smile,
And fine and soft and slow the rain made silver on your shawl.
Your cheeks were pink like painted cheeks, your eyes a pansy blue . . .
My heart was in my playing, but my music was for you.And now I play he organ in this lordly London town;
I play the lovely organ with a thousand folks in view.
They’re wearing silk and satin, but I see a woolen gown,
And my heart’s not in my music, for I’m thinking, lass, of you;
When you listened to a barefoot boy, who piped of ancient pain,
And your ragged shawl was pearly in the sweet, shy rain.
I’ll play them mighty music – O I’ll make them stamp and cheer;
I’ll give the best that’s in me, but I’ll give it all for you.
I’ll put my whole heart in it, for I feel that you are near,
Not yonder, sleeping always, where the peat is white with dew.
But I’ll never live the rapture of the shepherd boy the while
I trilled for you my whistle on the braes above Lochgyle.