I’m calling it a night…but, as I head off to sleep, I wanted to just publish my pride. I’m so grateful for my son; his health, his intellect and his big heart. It was 22 years ago that he came into the world on St. Patrick’s Day…a blessing child. I won’t get all sentimental here, just suffice it to say that he is my boy. And, I cherish him. A poem I passed on to him last evening over family dinner…I’ve always thought that these words were glorious ones.
‘Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world’s hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world’s fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world’s hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house — kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
‘Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house — friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house — King counselling King.