The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the crickets sing;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wing.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore,
While I stand on the roadway or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Sometimes when I have a million and one things to do and my mind is like a a refuse sack, I turn my back on the humdrum and curl up in an armchair with a pile of well- thumbed favourite books. One of these is a collection of W.B. Yeat's poetry.

The offspring have great difficulty in seeing the merits of this pastime. In fact, it is a source of curiousity and amusement to them. But this particular poem is one that they do appreciate. If only because I refuse to entertain the idea that anyone can be immune to such beautiful writing. And if they are to continue being well fed they had better get their heads out of Facebook occasionally and listen to their older, much wiser mater familias.

Obviously, the way to their hearts is through their stomachs.