Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.

It were a sweet and gallant pain
To be a sea apart;
But, oh, to have you down the lane
Is bitter to my heart.

by Dorothy Parker

Comments (4)

Loving poem Debora, Excellent and a talented writer.So much grace within your words. Take care.
From dust to stone, words so strong as to write themselves in it Love duncan X
My Mother used to do 'tatting' a kind of lace making, and I have her work now to remember her by, she was very talented with her hands. Lovely write. Love Ernestine XXX
Debora, I, too, have some of those crocheted and tatted pieces, and the thing I remember the most is those old, knarled, knotty hands, covered with spots, but working at the speed of light making them! Every time I put out a new one, I thank my 'Bo' and 'Aunt Kat' for making them! Thank you for this memory poem.