On Sacrifice

For various reasons, I am taking a break from my writing here for now,  but following a period of reflection and meditation, I am sharing some thoughts on sacrifice over on my Medium blog.

 

In the meantime, I shall leave you with some of Anne Bronte’s lesser known poetry – this is from ‘Last Lines’, written in January 1849:

 

That secret labour to sustain

With humble patience every blow,

To gather fortitude from pain

And hope and holiness from woe.

Thus let me serve Thee from my heart

Whatever be my written fate,

Whether thus early to depart

Or yet awhile to wait.

If Thou shouldst bring me back to life

More humbled I should be;

More wise, more strengthened for the strife,

More apt to lean on Thee.

 

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Poem: How Porcupines Make Love

If you were here now

– a little less prickly,

I would say

My darling, I promise you this;

If you were here now

 – maybe less bristley,

I would tell you

I promise, I promise you this;

No wounds, no tears of sacred grief

No scars, no fears, no jowley cheeks

No troubles of mind or bodily pride

Could chase me away from you, or

Cause me to doubt, it’s true

If you were here now

  it would always be so,

There is only my heart

  full of love to say this;

If you were here now

It would ever be so,

I promise, I promise

I promise you this.