Life lies to hand in hoe, spade, pruning-knife, <br />Plain wooden furniture and wattle walls, <br />In those unspoken words ‘my husband’, ‘wife’, <br />In one another’s flesh which still recalls <br /> <br />Beneath the map of age their savoured youth. <br />It is an ambience in which they move <br />Having no need to grasp or grub for truth; <br />It is the still persistence of their love. <br /> <br />That one should die before the other’s death <br />And drain the world of meaning is their fear: <br />Their hope, to draw together their last breath <br />And leave the sunlight on a common bier. <br /> <br />Life is the meaning and the bread they share; <br />Because they need no Gods, the Gods are there.<br /><br />Dick Davis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/baucis-and-philemon/
