April is national poetry month.
This weekend, I slid down a hill with my son, which was incredible fun. You can see it here. And it got me thinking of that old poem by Robert Burns, where he says,
John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a cantie day, John,
We've had wi ane anither:
Now we maun toter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.
That's literally what I was thinking of when I went down the hill with my boy--old age and death.
So, for today's poem, I chose one about growing older and slower and eventually dying. But it's a lovely poem, and I hope you like it!
We'll Go No More A-Roving
So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon
-George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron
Fellas, if you're going to try to quote Lord Byron to impress the ladies, make sure you get the words right. You don't want to overhear a girl say about you, "Yeah. He was quoting Byron. Badly."
It happened to me, and I wrote a song about it. You can hear a demo of it here.