missing my frozen toed walk

I have so much to say about work these days. I swear I will post about Library stuff soon, it's just that I've been working  a lot-it's quarter to 10p.m. and I am just now finishing the work day that began at 9a.m.--and sleeping a lot, like a damn bear hibernating!; and just feel like I can't keep up with LIFE! In the midst of all the good stuff I go and stumble upon a lovely poem like this and fall into feeling homesick for New England, my life there a million years ago, my friends tied to that place, my lovely Farm...*sigh.*

"New England"
Here where the wind is always north-north-east
And children learn to walk on frozen toes,
Wonder begets an envy of all those
Who boil elsewhere with such a lyric yeast
Of love that you will hear them at a feast
Where demons would appeal for some repose,
Still clamoring where the chalice overflows
And crying wildest who have drunk the least.

Passion is here a soilure of the wits,
We're told, and Love a cross for them to bear;
Joy shivers in the corner where she knits
And Conscience always has the rocking-chair,
Cheerful as when she tortured into fits
The first cat that was ever killed by Care.
 --E.A. Robinson


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