Both the lift I got from reading Halfway There by WH Auden yesterday and the sadness I feel at the death of my friend Lawrence went with my on my walk today. A poem came to me somewhere along the lane.
Answering Auden
It's not that I didn't have questions,
Only that asking might get answers
Answers that would give me pause;
What a Kelpie looks like
Or Mr Wren's marital status
Could stop me from going out the door
And always away
Driven by crowded feelings
Into the calm of an alien landscape
The distant surf f cars on a road
Out of sight
If I'd known that would be our last conversation
I'd have said more than 'Goodbye.'
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