A poem can have an impact, but you can’t expect an audience to understand all the nuances.
Were I a cloud I’d gather My skirts up in the air, And fly well know whither, And rest I well know where.
I’m attempting to put myself in a bottle that will one day wash up on the beach for my children.
We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the game.
Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru’ all creation.
The particular way I’m going to die is not going to be particularly pleasant. It will probably be physically uncomfortable, and it won’t be an easy thing for my wife and kids to watch. I think it will be a real challenge to see if I can squeeze the lemons hard enough to still get lemonade the last few weeks.
If I don’t seem as depressed or morose as I should be, sorry to disappoint you.
I’ve always liked Muir without knowing quite why.
My mother took great relish in introducing me as ‘This is my son – he’s a doctor but not the kind that helps people.’
I’m hanging in there, trying to spend as much quality time with my wife and kids as possible, and though it’s very frustrating to know I won’t beat the cancer, there’s a great satisfaction in knowing that I’m walking off the field with no regrets.