The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

{Robert Frost}

Death is nothing at all.

It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.

All is well.

The Four Seasons

(from Tully)

It was always a hot summer

In the days we used to play

I could say it doesn’t matter

But I’d give me all away.

Now an autumn has passed and another one, too,

There will be many springs now,

All without you.

Our cold winters won’t see you again

And neither will I

Till my seasons will end.

What hurts selfish me is not that you’ve gone,

But that I am still here,

And I’m all alone.

Spring, winter, and fall run into each other

I hope where you are it is one endless summer.

The Quiet Hour, The Quiet Corner

(by Patience Strong)

If you stand very still in the heart of a wood you will hear many wonderful things: the snap of a twig and the wind in the trees and the whirr of invisible wings.

If you stand very still in the turmoil of life and you wait for the voice from within – You’ll be led down the quiet ways of wisdom and peace – in a mad world of sorrow and sin.

If you stand very still and you hold to your faith you will get all the help that you ask… You will draw from silence the things that you need: hope and courage and strength for your task.

The visitor. Sometimes when I dare to let my thoughts go drifting back – and I venture out too far down Memory’s endless track – there comes the thought that somebody is waiting there for me – underneath the starry branches of the apple tree.

She calls my name out of the night. The voice that once I knew, breaks the silence of my room. And soft as falling dew – I lift the latch upon the door – but there is no-one there. Nothing but a shaft of moonlight gleaming on the stair.

Life has its quiet corners. It seems all rush and race – but here and there along the road we find a holy place – where Time stands still and joy floods in upon the troubled heart…

We know not whence they come, these lovely moments set apart – but this we know: a star, a flower, a sunset or a tree: a word, a poem or song will waken suddenly – the thought of God.

The restless mind with worldly things oppressed – finds the secret of its peace and in that peace is blessed.

Life

After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learnt that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up
and your eyes open and with the grace of an adult,
not with the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for your plans.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns
if you get too much.

So … plant your garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you will learn that you really can endure -
that you really are strong.
And you really do have worth.

(Anon)