I was reminded of the poet Edward Thomas by a post from businessinrhyme, so I thought I would share another poem by the same poet that kind of reminds me that there is always someone worse off.
The Owl
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
~
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry
~
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.
~
And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
writing in north norfolk 
Beautiful poem Kim. ❤️
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Thanks Jennifer. Edward Thomas is a strange one – some of his poems are spot on and others I can take or leave. But this one speaks to me.
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Yes, I really like this one. The last lines bring it all together I think! I like strange ones! Hehe
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