Category: 1970

Grief (Dec. 1970)

You grieve that life should be unjust;
Some rich and others poor;
Some who are never ill and some
With ills we cannot cure;
That some must work from morn to night
With little rest or ease
While others do no work at all
Living just as they please.

Life is not just, for Nature has
No sense of justice, she
Rules only by cause and effect
Applied impartially.

Then grieve not if life is unkind;
Man can surmount his fate.
Grieve rather that, granted free will,
He chose not love but hate.

Meg Rugg-Easey Dec. 1970

The Voyage (Oct. 1970)

When we are launched at birth, like little boats,
Upon life’s ocean, we are safe within
The harbour walls of home, and learn the skills
Of seamanship in sheltered waters; but
Anon and willy-nilly we must face
The storms and hazards of the open sea.

   It is a  lonely and a frightening voyage;
The boats so small and frail, the sea so strong;
So little help we get or we can give,
And so inadequate our power, it seems,
To contact those around us.

    If we steer
By the fixed stars then we shall keep on course,
But if, driven by storms, the stars obscured,
We drift with wind and current, we are lost.

   We see the older boats beside us dip
Lower and lower, battling with the waves
Until, despite our arms outstretched to help,
They sink to rest upon the ocean bed.

   And what the purpose of our voyage may be
We do not know, although we feel a sense
Of purpose in our lives, even at times
A unity with sea and sky and stars.

  But this we know – and this our guarantee
Of every individual’s worth – we know
Though countless millions sailed before our birth
And millions more will sail after we die,
Yet each one and each journey is unique.

Meg Rugg-Easey Oct. 1970

Tomorrow (Sept. 1970)

If I should die tomorrow, as I might –
As might we all – what would I miss the most,
When taking leave of all I love, and what
Regret the most?

   I think I would not grieve
To leave my loves behind, for they are safe
Enfolded in my heart, fused with my mind;
If anything survives they will not die

   And what regrets? Only, I think, for my
Lost opportunities; failures of love
Of patience, sympathy or tenderness.

   Our lives are but on loan, and when ’tis time
To make repayment it’s only the end
Of one adventure and, maybe, the start
Of yet another. I’ll repay my loan,
When I needs must with resignation and
With gratitude, for I’ve enjoyed my life.

Meg Rugg-Easey Sept. 1970