I've been to two funerals recently. I suppose it's inevitable that their frequency will increase as I get older, and my peer group ages alongside me. It makes you consider your own mortality, and prompts a resolve to use the days left to you more wisely. But somehow you never do, preferring to think there's still enough time left. The death of an elderly uncle is easier to bear. It's possible to reflect on a long life, well lived, To remember the fun you had when you were small, How he made you shriek until you were breathless, To consider the grace of his faith, which eased his end. The death of my sunny, fun-filled friend Is much harder to balance. We are all too aware She had too few years to enjoy her joyful take on life, Will miss out on too many evenings full of laughter, No longer guide her grandchildren into adulthood. Both deaths celebrated as a release from pain. Both lives celebrated as lives lived well. We carry their memories home with us, To
Day 25: ' write a poem based on the “ Proust Questionnaire ,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers . You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions. You could even write a poem in the form of an entirely new Proust Questionnaire.' Typically I read the prompt in a rush before going swimming, seized on the word 'virtue' and composed something while in the pool. It was only when I got back home that I realised the question was about the most overrated virtue. Too late, I've written instead about the most underrated virtue: kindness. It's hidden in the little things That brighten up each day. It's in the chores done without prompting, The coins you save for my after-swim hairdryer, The morning coffee brewed with a smile , The blanket shared on chilly evenings. It's in the well
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