Poetry...A Place for Me...

A PLACE FOR ME

There is a special place in life that needs my humble skill,
A certain job I’m meant to do which no one else can fulfill.

The time will be demanding and the pay is not too good
And yet I wouldn’t change it for a moment – even if I could
.
There is a special place in life, a goal I must attain,
A dream that I must follow, because I won’t be back again.

There is a mark that I must leave, However small it seems to be,
A legacy of love for those who follow after me

There is a special place in life that only I may share,
A little path that bears my name, awaiting me somewhere.

There is a hand that I must hold, a word that I must say,
A smile that I must give for there are tears to blow away.

There is a special place in life that I was meant to fill.
A sunny spot where flowers grow, upon a windy hill.

There’s always a tomorrow and the best is yet to be,
And somewhere in this world, I know there is a place for me.

~ Anon…

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Hi Jackie,
I loved your poem. You have reminded me of my love of poetry maybe a past time I can take up again. Anything to help with this awful grief would help.

I have not long joined a local U3A group and i am to be taken this mid week to their " poetry " group…but of course the only poetry i have been looking up is about " grieving " our loss…

Jackie…

Dear @Jackie-Richard, I hope you’re ok, you might not see this message as you said you’re leaving this site but on the chance you ever decide to log in again, I wanted you to know that I read a lot of your messages, and it made me sad that you decided to leave - I never got the chance to speak to you, but you sound like a wonderful person and I am so sorry you lost your beloved Richard. I hope you managed to find another place where you are able to cope with your grief and are not suffering alone.

Anyway, I was looking for a place to post a poem by my favourite poet, Thomas Hardy, which he wrote about his beloved wife Emma Gifford, after she died, and found your post on poetry, which gave me an excuse to say hello to you too in case you should ever decide to log on to this site again. All the best.

At Castle Boterel

by Thomas Hardy

As I drive to the junction of lane and highway,
And the drizzle bedrenches the waggonette,
I look behind at the fading byway,
And see on its slope, now glistening wet,
Distinctly yet

Myself and a girlish form benighted
In dry March weather. We climb the road
Beside a chaise. We had just alighted
To ease the sturdy pony’s load
When he sighed and slowed.

What we did as we climbed, and what we talked of
Matters not much, nor to what it led, ―
Something that life will not be balked of
Without rude reason till hope is dead,
And feeling fled.

It filled but a minute. But was there ever
A time of such quality, since or before,
In that hill’s story ? To one mind never,
Though it has been climbed, foot-swift, foot-sore,
By thousands more.

Primaeval rocks form the road’s steep border,
And much have they faced there, first and last,
Of the transitory in Earth’s long order ;
But what they record in colour and cast
Is—that we two passed.

And to me, though Time’s unflinching rigour,
In mindless rote, has ruled from sight
The substance now, one phantom figure
Remains on the slope, as when that night
Saw us alight.

I look and see it there, shrinking, shrinking,
I look back at it amid the rain
For the very last time; for my sand is sinking,
And I shall traverse old love’s domain
Never again.

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