By Edward Lewis Pogson

This poem was read out at his funeral as the family felt that it helped to sum up his life.

Remembering 

‘Tis a time to think when you’re growing old,

When the days grow short and the nights grow cold.

The eyes grow dim, yet still they see,

Through the mists of time,

Remembering.

 

A time to remember long ago,

Of a happy childhood spent like a summer’s morn,

One fleeting moment stay, that I may still recall,

Ere my memory fails and I wonder not,

Remembering.

 

Of a time of youth my life to live,

But cared not I, for the earth was warm and

The joys of loving ours to give.

Would I not linger yet again by the purple hills and unlit plain,

Remembering.

 

Of a manhood rudely spent,

On foreign soil on warfare bent,

A time of action, no time to think,

Regrets, remorse,

Remembering.

 

Of a time of marriage, loving, caring.

My bride all others thus forsaking.

Being father, teaching, learning.

But most of all as the years go by,

Remembering.

 

Of a time of sons all tall and three,

Bright of eye and parents’ pride,

All separate ways in life must weave,

A pattern in the mind of each,

Remembering.

 

On a life matured by wisdom’s touch,

Reflect upon these priceless thoughts.

But wonder not at what was spring,

The past is mine,

Remembering.

 

 

©Edward Lewis Pogson 1978

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