Monday, April 21, 2008


We're wiped out.

My grandmother had Edgar A. Guest poems taped inside her kitchen cabinets. My great-grandmother had an album of his poetry that she had meticulously cut out and pasted onto both sides of the pages. Me? I have great-grandma's album, obviously not here. We've been going through stuff, putting it in its new place and as always, certain objects bring back memories. I'm really tired right now, but I wanted to share this poem one with you, called "Life".

Life is a gift to be used every day,
Not to be smothered and hidden away;
It isn't a thing to be stored in the chest
Where you gather your keepsakes and treasure your best;
It isn't a joy to be sipped now and then
And promptly put back in a dark place again.

Life is a gift that the humblest may boast of
And one that the humblest may well make the most of.
Get out and live it each hour of the day,
Wear it and use it as much as you may;
Don't keep it in niches and corners and grooves,
You'll find that in service its beauty improves.

Just do it!

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