25 July 2010


So, I am quickly coming up on my 10-year high school reunion, which I'm actually really looking forward to. (Last night I dreamt that it was being held in the supermarket by my house. Not much seating, but the food was great.) Anyway, I was spending a lazy Sunday afternoon listening to Prairie Home Companion (which would make it seem like I'm coming up on my 50th high school reunion) when they read "The Fire of Drift-wood" by Longfellow, which I've excerpted below:

The Fire of Drift-wood

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

...We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;

...The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.

And now the thought of my reunion is fairly depressing. Thanks a lot, Longfellow.

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