Journal entry by Joanne Negstad — Aug 13, 2018
Warm Summer Sun BY MARK TWAIN
"Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind, Blow softly here.
Green sod above, Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night."
Adapted from Robert Richardson's poem “Annette.”
Twain wrote this for his deceased daughter's grave. Though I spend significant time at the cemetery it still seems so wrong that Joanne lies there. Wandering among the graves, reading the inscriptions I ponder the lives marked in stone. As I contemplate the grief of others, my own grief rises within me. Should I complain about 54 years? Should that not be enough? Or, is that length part cause of the depth of my grief? The presence of absence persists and I live with a hole in my heart.
Blessings,
Al
"Warm summer sun, Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind, Blow softly here.
Green sod above, Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart, Good night, good night."
Adapted from Robert Richardson's poem “Annette.”
Twain wrote this for his deceased daughter's grave. Though I spend significant time at the cemetery it still seems so wrong that Joanne lies there. Wandering among the graves, reading the inscriptions I ponder the lives marked in stone. As I contemplate the grief of others, my own grief rises within me. Should I complain about 54 years? Should that not be enough? Or, is that length part cause of the depth of my grief? The presence of absence persists and I live with a hole in my heart.
Blessings,
Al
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