Sunday Poetry.

We have been for a walk today on the other side of the harbour, over a hill, and into a quiet village which is currently hard to get into because the main road is blocked by a significant slip. It is quiet there. The locals were leaving their dirt bikes by the road as they played in the fields.

It would be nice to just live at such a place, but impractical: I did mention that slip, and the village is at sea level and floods. We have to do our duty.

Herbert left the comforts of his college for his duty. We may have to leave ours.

H. Baptisme. ( II )

Since, Lord, to thee
A narrow way and little gate
Is all the passage, on my infancie
Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
My faith in me.

O let me still
Write thee great God, and me a childe:
Let me be soft and supple to thy will,
Small to my self, to others milde,
Behither1 ill.

Although by stealth
My flesh get on, yet let her sister
My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth:
The growth of flesh is but a blister;
Childhood is health.
The Temple. George Herbert