Poem for Tuesday and More Snow

Yearnings For Home
By Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Oh let me go I’m weary here
And fevers scorch my brain,
I long to feel my native air
Breathe o’er each burning vein.

I long once more to see
My home among the distant hills,
To breathe amid the melody
Of murmering brooks and rills.

My home is where eternal snow
Round threat’ning craters sleep,
Where streamlets murmer soft and low
And playful cascades leap.

Tis where glad scenes shall meet
My weary, longing eye;
Where rocks and Alpine forests greet
The bright cerulean sky.

Your scenes are bright I know,
But there my mother pray’d,
Her cot is lowly, but I go
To die beneath its shade.

For, Oh I know she’ll cling
‘Round me her treasur’d long,
My sisters too will sing
Each lov’d familiar song.

They’ll soothe my fever’d brow,
As in departed hours,
And spread around my dying couch
The brightest, fairest flowers.

Then let me go I’m weary here
And fevers scorch my brain,
I long to feel my native air,
Breathe o’er each burning vein.

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It was snowing again when we got up on Monday and continued to do so on and off all day, though it was the tiny, feathery sort of flakes rather than the big fluffy ones with periods of hail and sleet, so we didn't get much new accumulation. The neighbor kids were out sledding again when they didn't have schoolwork and we were visited by many squirrels and birds looking for easily accessible food. 

 

We watched this week's Snowpiercer, which was great -- higher stakes this season so much more interesting than gratuitous grisly murders, and Connelly, Bean, and Diggs are great together -- then we watched Sunday's Batwoman, which...was not great, I wish it had even a marginal sense of humor and less gratuitous grisly murders of women. I hope friends in the northeast are digging out successfully!