The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, and yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for those who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

--Edward Thomas

I love this poem. Perhaps I will post my thoughts on it later and how they relate to man's (my) escape from sin and condemnation. For now, however, I would like to say that the rhyme of "voice" and "rejoice" is one of my favorites.

I am now off to finish writing the paper I am working on for my English class. I'm really enjoying it, but am too much of an extrovert to concentrate too long without some kind of contact (virtual or not) with people.

Anywho....happy working, oh people of Wednesday!