Friday, July 27, 2007

I Know Not

As I was walking the other night, after saying my prayers (I find that my solitary walk is a wonderful time to pray), I thought about whether I would be with my grandchildren to see them grow up, and whether I would ever cross the ocean again to visit places I love, and which of us (Grandpère or me) would leave the other behind, and I realized that I didn't have the answer to any of the questions, and these few little words came to me:
I Know Not

What is my life to be?
I know not. I know not.
And will I cross the sea?
I know not. I know not.
And will you stay with me?
I know not. I know not.
Alas, I see! I see!
I know not what my life shall be.

June Butler - 7-27-07
The nightly walk seems to be the place where my muse (if I can call her that) and I meet up.

I hope this post does not seem morbid, because neither my thoughts nor the poem saddened me. It's the reality of human life. We are born. We die. The time between the two is what differs for each of us.

At least Oscar, the cat, hasn't curled up beside either Grandpère or me - yet.

13 comments:

  1. A lovely poem, Mimi.
    It's bittersweet, not morbid at all.
    My thoughts have been tending that way too, recently. Especially as I expend quite a bit of time, energy, and even money in anticipation of living another twenty or more years.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love your poem, Mimi, especially its simplicity. You have a talent for the pithy.

    I too have heard of Oscar--read about him in a CT paper yesterday. I once worked in a hospice whose cage of parakeets would make noise when a patient was near dying. I would much prefer Oscar to a bunch of squawky birds.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Allen, Cynthia, thank you. I put my poems up in fear and trembling, with no idea whether they are any good at all.

    If any of you want to see a pretty baby, go see pictures of Allen's new granddaughter here.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Grandmere Mimi (I love calling you this), the poem is bittersweet, as Allen said. But it is a poem for each of us--we need to accept that we "know not."

    Thanks for the link to Allen's granddaughter--babies are such a blessing.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Jan, one of my commenters said that I'm everyone's grandmother. That's fine with me.

    Thanks for the kind word about the poem.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Elegantly put, grandmere mimi (me, too, Jan), but we expected that.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Big hugs. Your poem is not morbid in the least! I felt a kind of excitement in it, myself. It wouldn't be any fun if we knew exactly what was going to happen to us.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thank you, all (blushing).

    Johinieb, don't expect. I expect that each little ditty will be the last.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Poem is truly beautiful. Thank you.

    And, being a cat officianado (sp?) I can tell you that Oscar is not the only one with this kind of sensitivity to the human condition. Those who have not been abused and have been loved, are very good chaplains/pastors.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Serena, you're welcome.

    I want a cat, but my dog hates cats and goes after them to do harm, so I can't have one now. The stress of keeping the two separated would be too much.

    I believe what you say about them is true.

    ReplyDelete
  11. This is beautiful. We don't know... so much we can't tell.

    Wonderful poem Grandmère Mimi.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Lindy, thank you. No, we don't know. It would be dull if we knew, don't you think? It could be scary, too.

    ReplyDelete

Comment moderation is enabled. Anonymous comments are permitted so long as they are signed. Please use a name, any name, and sign your comment in order that one anonymous commenter may be distinguished from another. Thank you.