Sam McGee

It's unfortunate that poetry has left the realms of modern education. The power to evoke emotion and communicate coherent thoughts and concepts on multiple levels is an art, and something unmatched by many modern movies and other media.

A good tea selection is one of the better hidden secrets of B&W.
Good tea and poetry, hard to go wrong.

I can still distinctly remember my last encounter with institutionalized poetry, involving fourth grade limerick writing about seagulls flying over buildings (memorialized in a book lost to time in one of the boxes under the stairs). While I'm still quite proud of said masterpiece, I'm afraid I might have some work to do to catch up with the masters of the art.

Finding an edition of the Complete Works of Robert Service on the floor of my room this morning brought back some wonderful memories of my father reading The Cremation Of Sam McGee and other assorted poems as a child (thanks dad!).

Being fairly unacquainted to the world of poetry, I hope you'll all bear with me as I delve into the depths (ok ok, I'll probably stick to more of the classics) and post some of the ones that resonate with me.

Reveille

Wake: the silver dusk returning

Up the beach of darkness brims,

And the ship of sunrise burning

Strands upon the eastern rims.

Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,

Trampled to the floor it spanned,

And the tent of night in tatters

Straws the sky-pavilioned land.

Up, lad, up, ’tis late for lying:

Hear the drums of morning play;

Hark, the empty highways crying

‘Who’ll beyond the hills away?’

Towns and countries woo together,

Forelands beacon, belfries call;

Never lad that trod on leather

Lived to feast his heart with all.

Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber

Sunlit pallets never thrive;

Morns abed and daylight slumber

Were not meant for man alive.

Clay lies still, but blood’s a rover;

Breath’s a ware that will not keep.

Up, lad: when the journey’s over

There’ll be time enough to sleep.

                                       -A. E. Housman