I just heard that my Grandpa visited his doctor yesterday (he's in freezing New York City) and he managed to teach her (the doctor, that is) this poem:
The King of China’s daughter
The King of China’s daughter,
She never would love me
Though I hung my cap and bells upon
Her nutmeg tree.
For oranges and lemons,
The stars in bright blue air,
(I stole them long ago, my dear)
Were dangling there.
The Moon did give me silver pence,
The Sun did give me gold,
And both together softly blew
And made my porridge cold;
But the King of China’s daughter
Pretended not to see
When I hung my cap and bells upon
Her nutmeg tree.
Apparently, the doctor liked the poem so much that she had Grandpa write it down for her (he has very ornate and flowing handwriting, by the way). When Grandpa first taught me this poem, he kept nudging me and winking and saying: "So...El....Who do you think wrote this poem? Huh? Who's the poet? A man? A woman? Are you sure it's a man?" winkwinknudgenudge.
(It was written by Edith Sitwell)
I shall return soon with news from the beach.........
3 comments:
Better get to the beach before it actually starts raining Eleanor. Although, it is lovely having the beach to yourself when the drizzle scares the sunseekers away.
It's official, Eleanor. I have a CRUSH on your grandpa.
Ask him, please, what poem he'd like to teach us, the Internets.
I am learning so much from you!
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