|The full size piece of plywood used for the||verse|
Although there are numerous authors that start with the letter "U", Robert Upton, Johann Karl Unger , John Updike, to name a few, I am using this opportunity to share a piece of poetry that has fascinated me for many, many years. I did, indeed, learn it from my grandmother, but it was reinforced by my father, who was also a great fan. I have inserted different parts of it in "Google" but have been unsuccessful in finding the author. Please make me aware if you know who wrote this. In the meantime it is "Unknown"
It is important to note that in his later years at home, my Dad, who suffered from Emphysema, or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, always found ways to pass his time. One of these ways was to "burn" letters on wood, one dot at a time, using only a magnifying glass and the sun. He possessed patience and a steady hand, neither of which was passed on to me!
Over the years I have read and recited it hundreds of times and every time I find something else that points out the ironies and cold hard facts of life.
Heaven in her mercy, hides the Book of Fate
All but the page prescribed, our present state.
From beasts what man doth know, from man what spirits know
Or who could endure being here below.
The lamb thy riot doomed shall die today
Had he thy wisdom, would he skip and play?
Nay! Pleased to the last he crops the flowery food
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
|Close up view of the work involved.|
Over the years, Dad made several wood burnings and gave to other members of my family, but this is my favorite.