The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Thursday, Great Falls, The Americans

One Sweeps By
By Walt Whitman

One sweeps by, attended by an immense train,
All emblematic of peace—not a soldier or menial among them.

One sweeps by, old, with black eyes, and profuse white hair,
He has the simple magnificence of health and strength,
His face strikes as with flashes of lightning whoever it turns toward.

Three old men slowly pass, followed by three others, and they by three others,
They are beautiful—the one in the middle of each group holds his companions by the hand,
As they walk, they give out perfume wherever they walk.


It snowed all morning. (Yes, I did just copy and paste that from my post from yesterday.) Again, school was not delayed, though we got an inch and a half on the ground and there was a five-car accident in front of son's high school as wheels went skidding. Because it's much colder, the snow stuck to the sidewalks and in our neighborhood, making it difficult to take a walk since it's hard to see the ice patches on the road. (At least one bunny was unfazed, nibbling what grass it could find through the snow.)

Paul worked from home to avoid driving in the snow after getting Adam to school, so we had lunch together when not on our respective computers around the corner from each other. He had found a tofurkey roast on sale, so we had a big dinner, which pleased Adam. Then we watched a show about Irish wildlife and the end of Captain America before the season premiere of The Americans, which remains as ulcer-inducing, well-written and well-acted as ever. Great Falls, Virginia in snow:


  • Poem for Thursday and Great Falls Geese

    I Am Waiting By Lawrence Ferlinghetti I am waiting for my case to come up and I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder and I am waiting for someone…

  • Poem for Wednesday and Great Falls Cardinals

    The Bird Her Punctual Music Brings By Emily Dickinson The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— Its place is in the Human…

  • Poem for Tuesday and Carderock

    A wounded Deer – leaps highest – By Emily Dickinson A wounded Deer – leaps highest – I've heard the Hunter tell – 'Tis but the ecstasy of death…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded