ianpspurs
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Today's poem In Memoriam XXVIII by Alfred Lord Tennison. The pain of a first Christmas without a loved one will be felt throughout this land and indeed the whole world by far too many this year. The last quatrain contains something less bleak - redemptive?- in the harking back to childhood. Both types of memories are carried and surface for many of us at this time of year as we age if I'm not way off the mark. What I will miss this year is the Christmas tree in an old abandoned churchyard on the route of the dog walk I used most in The Old Country. Each year it was decorated - lights and all- but cards and a pen were left in a box for anyone to write a message for their loved ones who rejoiced on another shore in a greater light. I loved walking the dogs there just as darkness fell (best of all when mist snaked along the ditches and hovered over the fields) then siting quietly by the warmth and heat of just the log burner.
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