The Little Old Table
Creak, little wood thing, creak,
When I touch you with elbow or knee;
That is the way you speak
Of one who gave you to me!
You, little table, she brought -
Brought me with her own hand,
As she looked at me with a thought
That I did not understand.
- Whoever owns it anon,
And hears it, will never know
What a history hangs upon
This creak from long ago.
Thomas Hardy English 1840-1928
This lovely poem illustrates the subtle beauty of the art; this 'table' represents so much more than it may seem. It is a life that had passed, filled with nuances and 'looks', memories of a life gone, the creak that only the poet can truly appreciate, lovely indeed.
J J.
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