At the very least, it gives you a good idea of what the crowd looked like, if you couldn't make it. What you can't see is that every person in the room was laughing hysterically and throwing bundles of money at me. The priests collected it all but I haven't yet seen any of that cash. Should I call someone about that?
***************
Finally, below you will find the text of the poem I read. It really is a nice poem with a nice sentiment but every time I read it, I can't help but think that the narrator is a total dick. Christ, dude...let it lie! She still counts her dead brother as her brother! And why are you badgering this little girl in the first place? Did you just step out of your windowless van and strike up a conversation?
I want answers!
Anyhow, this poem is special to my family because about ten years ago, my parents returned from Mexico with a little stone totem of seven figures, arms intertwined, that doubles as a candle holder.
Almost exactly like this.
As our family is seven strong (two Parents, five kids), my Father loved the symetry of the thing. For the last ten years, it has sat before us as we consumed a truly epic amount of champagne. He calls it, "We are Seven", after the poem listed below. As the poem discusses, we are clearly still seven, even with my Mother no longer with us. We will forever be Seven.
We Are Seven
A simple child...
That lightly draws its breath
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl-
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered 'round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea."
"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea,
Yet, ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."
Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."
"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door
And they are side by side."
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit
And sing a song to them."
"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair
I take my little porringer
And eat my supper there."
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain
And then she went away."
"So in the churchyard she was laid
And, when the grass was dry
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I."
"And when the ground was white with snow
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little maid's reply,
"O master! We are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'T was throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will
And said... "Nay, we are seven!"
by William Wordsworth, 1798
A simple child...
That lightly draws its breath
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl-
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered 'round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea."
"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother
And in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell
And two are gone to sea,
Yet, ye are seven! I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."
Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."
"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door
And they are side by side."
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit
And sing a song to them."
"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair
I take my little porringer
And eat my supper there."
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain
And then she went away."
"So in the churchyard she was laid
And, when the grass was dry
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I."
"And when the ground was white with snow
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little maid's reply,
"O master! We are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'T was throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will
And said... "Nay, we are seven!"
by William Wordsworth, 1798
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