Once again, so tired last night that I forgot to press Publish – so here is yesterday’s post, a little late!
On one of our routes into town we pass a little stream.
The following poem by Dick Davis, has a metaphor which recalls for me the days when our four children woke up early – now, joy of joys, when the Grandchildren come to stay, it is they who crawl into bed with us and it isn’t a matter of ‘giving up’ but of relishing the moment! Here, I feel Davis’ simile has become those awful thoughts that intrude the moment one wakes to consciousness when the ‘mess’ of reality hits with a wallop.
6 A.M. Thoughts
As soon as you wake they come blundering in
Like puppies or importunate children;
What was a landscape emerging from mist
Becomes at once a disordered garden.
And the mess they trail with them! Embarrassments,
Anger, lust, fear–in fact the whole pig-pen;
And who’ll clean it up? No hope for sleep now–
Just heave yourself out, make the tea, and give in.