And now September burns the careful tree
That builds each year the leaf and bark again
With solemn care and rounded certainty
That nothing lives which seasons do not mend.
The young are never robbed of innocence
But given gold of love and memory.
We live in wealth whose bounds exceed our sense,
And when we die are full of memory.
by Donald Hall
Mr. Hall died last Saturday, June 30th. He was 89.
read the tribute here
Sad, but he continues on through his wonderfully poetic words.
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Indeed. What inspired me was listening to an NPR broadcast today. It was replayed in his honor. In it, he was asked if he thinks he will live on through his words. He said he didn’t know but probably not over time. That’s why I wrote this blog. Yes, Mr. Hall, your words have traveled on. (I suppose I should have mentioned this in my blog!)