“Someone has said, ‘It is not how old you are but how you are old.’ The way I was old today on my eightieth birthday is that I have just entered the infancy of middle age.” SIR ISAAC, ISAACS

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Silence
By Anthony Thwaite

This silence, with you away –
These silences, day after day –
Silence itself, pure and cold and grey –

Once I welcomed it, heard
Nothing but peace, even a bird
Disturbing it. Without a word

Silence welcomed me, took
Me in friendliness, shook
Melancholy out, thrust a book

Into my hands, so that I read
Hungrily of what lay ahead,
Not thinking of the dead.

Alone,
Silence lies along the bone,
Grey, cold as a stone.

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2 thoughts on ““Someone has said, ‘It is not how old you are but how you are old.’ The way I was old today on my eightieth birthday is that I have just entered the infancy of middle age.” SIR ISAAC, ISAACS”

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