5 November: My Youth by W. H. Davies

My youth was my old age,
    Weary and long;
It had too many cares
    To think of song;
My moulting days all came
    When I was young.

Now, in life's prime, my soul
    Comes out in flower;
Late, as with Robin, comes
    My singing power;
I was not born to joy
    Till this late hour." 
                                                  W. H. Davies

Another Welsh poet today, this one writing in English. Davies was famously discovered as a poet when he was living in a homeless hostel, walking through London, selling a little booklet of verse from door to door. Before that he had shipped cattle across the Atlantic and tramped over much of North America: the Supertramp.
Not a life conducive to singing power.

Never give up on life! Joy comes to many at a late hour, and with it perspective and understanding of the trials and depressions of youth.

The European robin sings through Autumn and Winter to defend its territory but is less vocal when moulting – growing a new suit of feathers.

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Filed under Autumn, Daily Reflections, poetry

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