I knew there had to be some other reason I was upset today. I went to the CBC website to catch up on my daily Canadiana and came across this:
The man, the poet, from whom I derived this blog's title, died today. I'm sure he was a lecherous old man given his poetry, but I loved him anyway.
An excerpt from 'Look, The Lambs Are All Around Us'
"Your figure, love,
into a man's memory;
or to put it the way
a junior prof
at Mount Allison might,
Helen with her thick
about the waist
did no better."
And to finish with a line from Irving Layton's 'Compositions in Late Spring'
"Death is a name for beauty not in use."