When All is Said and Done

 

 When all is said and done...

When all is said an’ done, my luve

And we come near this journey’s end

When we have little left to prove

In clamoring for boasts of men

Will we, when all is said and tried

As twilight edges to the deep

Will we, my luve, be satisified

When we submit to that last sleep?

When all is said and done, my luve

And we are nothing but their tears

As petals whither on a grave

And bygones echo in their ears

Oh, will it be a kind caress

The cadence of that silent song

As tenderly they reminisce

My luve, when all is said an’ done?

When all is said and done, my luve

And swallows skim the vernal crest

Where thence we’ll rest; then tender youth

Will rise to greet life’s luring quest

Shod with the immortality

That slips away beneath the sun

As they advance toward the lea

My luve, when all is said and done

© Janet Martin

I am at a stage in life where my ears are filled with grand hopes and dreams of my own children and their friends as they ‘plan’. Yesterday I chuckled quietly as I listened to their well-laid ‘dreams’. Life, the great Teacher patiently and subtly plies her touch.

I felt like adding a teeny 'Burns' flavor to the poem this morning in memory of him. He was born on Jan. 25. 1759. In my mind there is no other poet quite like Robert Burns.

From my book- Songs from Robert Burns here is a fav...

Now Westlin Winds
(Robert Burns)

Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns
Bring August's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather;
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary Farmer;
The moon shines bright, as I rove at night,
To muse upon my Charmer.

The Pairtrick lo'es the fruitfu' fells;
The Plover lo'es the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lanely dells;
The soaring Hern the fountains:
Thro' lofty groves, the Cushat roves,
The path o'man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush,
The spreading thorn the Linnet.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;
The Sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The flutt'ring, gorg pinion!

But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear,
Thick flies the skimming Swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow:
Come let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms o' Nature:
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
And ilka happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
While the silent moon shines clearly;
I'll clasp thy waist, and fondly prest,
Swear how I lo'e thee dearly:
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not Autumn to the Farmer,
So dear can be, as thou to me,
My fair, my lovely Charmer!