This was always more of a poem I guess. Written in melancholic mood a few months before I came to faith. What make a seventeen year old think about death at the other end of life?
I'm Martin Day. Please contact me about anything on this site. I will reply personally.
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'To close the day' by Martin Day I walked beside the sparkling lake Wondering which coarse to take. Whilst anglers cast their shadows long, Both day and night birds sang their song. On stony path through larch and birch Meandering towards the church, To where the yew tree overhung, To where I played when I was young. With sun and friends, and games, and laughs We’d play between the epitaphs. Still just as green it’s leafy shroud, It’s now begun to overcrowd. With stones ‘round which we used to play, And stones that mark where they now lay, They’d one by one faded away, Leaving just me to close the day. © M Day 19-Jul-1978
I walked beside the sparkling lake Wondering which coarse to take. Whilst anglers cast their shadows long, Both day and night birds sang their song. On stony path through larch and birch Meandering towards the church, To where the yew tree overhung, To where I played when I was young. With sun and friends, and games, and laughs We’d play between the epitaphs. Still just as green it’s leafy shroud, It’s now begun to overcrowd. With stones ‘round which we used to play, And stones that mark where they now lay, They’d one by one faded away, Leaving just me to close the day.
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