Blog

I know it's not Valentine's Day, yet, but it's been long enough that unless you're the rare husband who is constantly romancing his wife (if you are that rare husband,…

Actions prove who someone is Words just prove who they want to be All the books we read, and iMom.com, and AllProDad.com, and yes, the other blogs, and the other…

This is from the Ballad of the White Horse:

And this was the might of Alfred, At the ending of the way;

That of such smiters, wise or wild, He was least distant from the child, Piling the stones all day.

For Eldred fought like a frank hunter That killeth and goeth home;

And Mark had fought because all arms Rang like the name of Rome. 

And Colan fought with a double mind, Moody and madly gay;

But Alfred fought as gravely As a good child at play.

He saw wheels break and work run back And all things as they were;

And his heart was orbed like victory And simple like despair.

Therefore is Mark forgotten, That was wise with his tongue and brave;

And the cairn over Colan crumbled, And the cross on Eldred’s grave.

Their great souls went on a wind away, And they have not tale or tomb;

And Alfred born in Wantage Rules England till the doom.

And as a child whose bricks fall down Re-piles them o’er and o’er, Came ruin and the rain that burns, Returning as a wheel returns,

And crouching in the furze and ferns He began his life once more.

That made sense, right?  Or, maybe a little more explanation is needed?

(more…)