24 November 2010

on life

(Hoping that this is not breaking copyright, but there were no repercussions from my previous Adcock post so I will post the text with much respect for the poet and the poem).

A poem by one of my favourite poets, Fleur Adcock.

For a five year old

A snail is climbing up the window-sill
Into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see and I explain
That it would be unkind to leave it there:
It might crawl to the floor; we must take care
That no one squashes it. You understand,
And carry it outside, with careful hand,
To eat a daffodil.
I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
Your gentleness is moulded still by words
From me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
Your closest relatives and who purveyed
The harshest kind of truth to many another,
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
And we are kind to snails.

5 comments:

Sarah said...

What??

Kay said...

Yes, I stole it from your blog, but I was an Adcock fan first!

(Switches off computer and runs away...)

Sarah said...

But that is how things are; I am your mother
And I rip off your blog posts.

Ha ha ha.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Kay said...

When one has all her children over a "certain age" the mother becomes the one who borrows the clothes, rips off the blog posts, gets help with her homework, generally reverses the order of things...

I am also your biggest fan, don't ever forget that!

Sarah said...

I love you, mum!