worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie

Yesterday, a group of friends gathered to mourn the loss of our friend, Lisa. True to our tribe, we gathered at Panera, where we gather each Sunday, and - as usual - we Knitted, spun, crocheted, laughed, ate, hugged. Not so usual were the tears for our lost friend. 



One of us brought two bowls filled with stones -citrine and amethyst-

The citrine was for Lisa, as yesterday was her birthday.

The poem that came to mind is this elegiac beauty, because we are all at the time in our lives when we do know why we weep. I'll share it here. Rest in peace, Lisa.


Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

-- Gerard Manley Hopkins