For some people, St. Pat’s means wearing green or drinking. For others there’s traditional food like corned beef and cabbage. For some it’s a time for a parade or just in general celebrating their Irishness. I suppose some people will go to church. For me, it’s finding a poem by William Butler Yeats and copy and pasting it here.
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Everything becomes frayed from use and wears thin after a while, including the universe itself, whose days are numbered.