An August Midnight
By Thomas Hardy
A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
On this scene enter–winged, horned, and spined –
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;
While 'mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .
Thus meet we five, in this still place,
At this point of time, at this point in space.
– My guests parade my new-penned ink,
Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink.
“God's humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why?
They know Earth-secrets that know not I.
Yep that last line, the one hopefully in bold, which may or may not appear as such in the post since I am sending this one in.
I have a few stories coming out. One is a story about my grandfather, though it did not start out that way at all. The others are eulogies to two friends who passed away this year, both far too young, both of whom I deeply miss.
It is interesting trying to find the patience for writing for others reading than just writing for the sake of getting something off ones chest or out of ones brain so that it is out there for out there's sake. Unlike the longlegs, moth, dumbledore and fly from the poem above, I know not the Earth-secrets to matters such as these.