1908 - 2010
Home is the sailor, home from sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world.
Home is the hunter from the hill:
Fast in the boundless snare
All flesh lies taken at his will
And every fowl of air.
'Tis evening on the moorland free,
The starlit wave is still:
Home is the sailor from the sea,
The hunter from the hill.
A. E. Houseman
I thank everyone for the kind words, the emails,the prayers, and even the posts you have shared with me. I am not surprised, but still strangely numb. A banal moment, it comes to everyone on this earth sooner or later, but no words can describe the impact of the loss of one;s father, when it comes.