Only elegant words would be adequate to describe Marjorie and I can’t find those as I sit down to write. I met Marjorie through my beautiful sister, Grace. Thanks be to God. It would have been a sad thing to have missed this opportunity in life. She is one of the most soulful and gracious individuals I’ve ever met. But here I go…trying to use ordinary words. I’m going to post a poem, a song and some images. I hope that they will be enough.
The stories that Marjorie shared with me…told again and again…so, now maybe I can keep them and learn from them. The following, metaphors.
A Memory of Youth by William Butler Yeats
THE moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
Suddenly hid Love’s moon away.
Believing every word I said,
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she’d not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that Love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
ALTHOUGH crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men’s eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone.
These lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what-s gone. A crowd
Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud