Unto Us

 

 

Unto Us

There has been no snow this year. It has been unseasonably warm.  Too hot for central heating let alone open fires. Many felt it was sign that the world was burning up, that we had  gone too far. There had been three deaths in the road this year. Not everyone  felt it was a season to be merry.

But at the end of the road the river still flows, the oarsmen cycle up and down to their training, the  river bus takes the suits to and from the City. Because of the time of year many put lights in their windows and wreaths on their doors. Some go to carol services and hear and sing of the birth that was to bring peace and goodwill to all men. Work in progress at best.

Although it has been too warm for clear nights and London’s few stars to make a show , there has been a light and a joy.  The invisible star drew nigh to SW15. Three days ago our dear neighbours , Alex and Tania (no 52) gave birth to a daughter Lila(7lbs 4). Wonderful. A Princess of Putney. Their front door was bedecked with pink ribbon. Unto us a child is born.

Another Londoner, William Blake, wrote

“ I have no name,

I am but two days old”

What shall I call thee?

“I happy am,

Joy is my name”

Sweet joy befall thee !

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One Response to Unto Us

  1. Johan Vivian VAN DIJK says:

    I still prefer the oldies, the traditional writing styles I might call it, poetry with a rhythm. The sentiments expressed were appropriate to the moment you write of. With everything going on the world, the Middle East and Afghanistan, I read iften the following verse (first of many, from a poem by Lord Houghton (1809-1885) : ‘The Men of Old’ :

    ‘I know not that the men of old
    Were better than men now,
    Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,
    Of more ingenious brow:
    I heed not those who pine for force
    A ghost of time to raise,
    As if they thus could check the course
    Of these appointed days.’

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