07-18-2012, 02:37 AM
Revised
One year the kids made a photo mosaic,
a diary from warmness to winter’s decaying:
the feeding of bottles and reading of stories,
my hair set in bobbles, the family guffawing;
teaching the beautiful game in the garden,
patiently building sandcastles and snowmen;
watching barbarians ruin my labours
as youngsters mutate into surly teenagers.
My long dark locks are whitened and thinning;
this worshipping congregation has risen
as if all sins were forgot or forgiven
and I a declining church or religion,
desirous of presence and sincere devotion:
receiving lip-service and standard gift tokens.
Original
One year the kids made a photo mosaic,
a diary from warmness to winter’s decaying:
the feeding of bottles and reading of stories,
my hair set in bobbles, the family guffawing;
teaching the beautiful game in the garden,
patiently building sandcastles and snowmen;
watching barbarians ruin my labours
as youngsters mutate into surly teenagers.
My long dark locks are whitened and thinning;
this worshipping congregation has risen
as if all sins were forgot or forgiven
and I a declining church or religion,
desirous of presence and shows of devotion:
receiving lip-service and mere gift tokens.
.
One year the kids made a photo mosaic,
a diary from warmness to winter’s decaying:
the feeding of bottles and reading of stories,
my hair set in bobbles, the family guffawing;
teaching the beautiful game in the garden,
patiently building sandcastles and snowmen;
watching barbarians ruin my labours
as youngsters mutate into surly teenagers.
My long dark locks are whitened and thinning;
this worshipping congregation has risen
as if all sins were forgot or forgiven
and I a declining church or religion,
desirous of presence and sincere devotion:
receiving lip-service and standard gift tokens.
Original
One year the kids made a photo mosaic,
a diary from warmness to winter’s decaying:
the feeding of bottles and reading of stories,
my hair set in bobbles, the family guffawing;
teaching the beautiful game in the garden,
patiently building sandcastles and snowmen;
watching barbarians ruin my labours
as youngsters mutate into surly teenagers.
My long dark locks are whitened and thinning;
this worshipping congregation has risen
as if all sins were forgot or forgiven
and I a declining church or religion,
desirous of presence and shows of devotion:
receiving lip-service and mere gift tokens.
.
Before criticising a person, try walking a mile in their shoes. Then when you do criticise them, you're a mile away.....and you have their shoes.