Only a Passing Thought

When I was about 17 or 18, I decided to put a poem on my answering machine (I had my own line in my parents' house). I put the poem below first, then my idea was deep-sixed a few days later when I changed to another poem so dreary about death and war that sounded like a Herbal Essence commercial ("And they killed two people...."). (I didn't say it was good.)

The following poem is a quaint little piece. Great art? No. But I still like it.


Only A Thought


'Twas only a passing thought, my love,
Only a passing thought,
that came o'er my mind like a ray of the sun
in the ripples of waters caught
and it seemed to me and I say to thee
that sorrow and shame and sin
might disappear from our happy sphere
if we knew but to begin
if we knew how to profit
By wisdom dearly bought
'Twas only a passing thought, my love,
Only a passing thought.

by Charles MacKay

Now, for Pete's sake, go listen to The Writer's Almanac. Today's poem (4/18) is good.

One last thing: the Washington Post stories about the individuals killed Monday at Virginia Tech are poignant. Every death is a tragedy and should be mourned, and every story brings fresh sadness. One story in particular was so beautifully written you must read it, if you haven't already: Tragedy Beyond the Imagination. It is the kind of story I wish was hearing from a friend for any other reason. Please read it. You will cry, but it deserves to be read. I remember covering this kind of event and I have mixed emotions about it; I hope Post writer Tamara Jones was as respectful as I would have tried to be. From the tender story she wrote, I think she was.