 | |
| Photo credit: by ToniVC on Flickr |
Rebecca left a comment on my my last post about her autistic nephew and her sister's love for him: "she loves him for who he is, he poses a tremendous challenge, but she would not change that for the world because she said that to ask for a different child would mean to have not accepted him or loved him at all."
And that reminded me of one of my favorite poems, one that has always seemed to speak to my marriage, and I think speaks to my relationship with my son too. And it makes me giggle too.
if seventy were young
and death uncommon
(forgiving not divine,
to err inhuman)
or any thine a mine
--dingdong:dongding--
to say would be to sing
if broken hearts were whole
and cowards heroes
(the popular the wise,
a weed a tearose)
and every minus plus
--fare ill:fare well--
a frown would be a smile
if sorrowful were gay
(today tomorrow,
doubting believing and
to lend to borrow)
or any foe a friend
--cry nay:cry yea--
november would be may
that you and i'd be quite
--come such perfection--
another i and you,
is a deduction
which(be it false or true)
disposes me to shoot
dogooding folk on sight
~ee cummings
7 comments: