To an athlete dying young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honors out,
Runners whom reknown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before the echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.


AE Housman

I might not be around to visit you this year. But it is also true that I still think of you. And that it might be a fact that is stopping me from taken notice when others have left.
But I can still see your last smile. That last smile that you took to hell.
Happy 1st of december, Baloo, kiddo is still around thinking she can change the world and she is taking care of sissy (as much as i can)
Colin was speaking to me about you the other day. The beatiful lady who is sense asked me to tell you that she still remembers your potato bread. She also said she sees you now and then, walking down the street, in every young man´s face.
Now we´ve brought new people to the house, as you saw yesterday. but you would´ve liked them. I saw your father. And hug him. I am sorry, but i´ll not be seeing you soon, because I am going to live. Somebody needs to stick around to pick up the pieces of broken glass you´ve left everywhere.
With love,
kiddo