our village (14)

On a lighter note, I have another poem to share with you.  Don’t go telling everybody, but I think it’s just sweet: Mr. Bellis wrote this one out for me on  my last birthday, said it was by one of his favorite poets.  It’s called “Pied Beauty,” by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

Glory be to God for dappled things —
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pierced — fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                               Praise him.

Sounds pretty, don’t you think?  I don’t worry that Mr. Bellis is attracted to me — I think it’s a love poem to God, not to me, and there’s all sorts of stuff to ensure that I’m not too flattered: the references to a cow and moles on a trout — the finches’ wing is nice, though — and things “strange” and “freckled” … well, if he’s referencing me then there’s no fear of too much attraction.  If anything, I’m just his sweet and sour neighbor.  Sweet of him to remember me, that’s all.  And I like the poem.

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