Early thursday morning a tradgic event occured. My grandmother past away at 1:43 am. The irony of it all is that Thursday, though it was Guys Read birthday it was my grandmothers death day. One of the hospis nurses found this great poem by Henry Van Dyke.
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me — not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"
And that is dying…
Death comes in its own time, in its own way.
Death is as unique as the individual experiencing it.
And I know it is pretty girly but it has alot of meaning to it. And it shows that any form of literature wether its a novel or a poem, a short story or a biography, can have a meaning to it wether or not it pops out at you or its a hidden message. So pretty much all I have to say is " The Irony, oh The Irony"
Koko B. Ware