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date: 1920-04-03

names-on-the-page: Mrs. Thompson; Miss Hambleton

transcription: April 3, 1920

Mrs. Thompson,
Miss Hambleton,
The family.

It was such a bleak night that we did not look for Mrs. Thompson, but
she came in later. Patience seemed very close and gave us this
companionable poem:

-Fishers All-

Into the golden sea of Day
Cast we our nets, beloved.
Fishers are we, slipping the mesh
With sure faith. What though
The haul brings forth but wastes,
Drifts, flotsam of the stretching waters?
Or mayhap, a sprig of coral,
White, or rosy red, garlanded o'er
With a trailing seaweed,
Or a tendrilled water vine?

What though today we cast
And the net slips, bringing forth
But this? Tomorrow comes, the same
Gold sea. There is fishing, beloved,
For aye, and we tie our hope
With a twist of faith.

The talk then reverted to the unbelief of people and Patience said:

"Nay man may sew a straight seam wi' a bodkin o' doubt."

"Would a man for to see his ain folly let him set about mendin'
his breek-seat wi' his doubt."

-Drunk On Folly Wine-

Oh, I am drunk in a cup
Of bliss, a topsy turvy vintage.
To me the sea's a porridge bowl
And ships are sailin' flies.
The roads but patterns laid ungodly-wise
To pinafore the earth. And thee,
And thee, beloved, art but little gnats
That sail molestin' day and ticklin' hours
Wi' buzzin'. And I, ah I, a shuttlin' note.
I'm drunked upon a folly. I'd comb
The sky wi' a cockleshell and count
The stars as periwinkles. I'd ladle,
Then, the milky way wi' a silver cup,
The moon-O! Oh, I'm drunked upon
A folly wine, a topsy-turvy vintage!

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