Gratitude Monday: It was the eve

Hokey smokes—is it April already? Well, you know what that means: it’s National Poetry Month. Today is also Gratitude Monday, and it falls on Easter Monday. What to do, what to do?

Well, today I’m grateful for poetry—the various forms it takes, its ability to cut right to the heart of expression and emotions, its visible beauty, its use of language(s); all the ways it helps us communicate our most important messages. Don’t get me wrong—there’s a heap of bad poetry out there (just like bad novels, bad songs and bad movies). But when it’s good, it is perfection.

For the Easter Monday portion of today’s post, let’s go that day in 1917 and Eleanor Farjeon.

If you’ve ever listened to Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam as was) sing “Morning Has Broken” (or been surprised to find the song in your church hymnal), then you’re familiar with Farjeon, an English poet, journalist and writer of children’s books. Farjeon came from a late-Victorian literary family, and counted among her friends D.H. Lawrence, Walter de la Mare and Robert Frost (who lived for some time in England until World War I broke out). One of her closest friendships was with the poet Edward Thomas and his wife Helen.

On Easter Monday, 9 April 1917, Thomas was killed in his first action, at Arras, France. Farjeon wrote a poem that captures that instant when we at home learn that the one at war has paid the highest price for policy. The tiniest of things are etched eternally into our memories, some to bring a glimmer of joy, others an unexpected rush of tears. Sometimes for the rest of our lives.

Here's the thing—the constant throughout every war humans have fought throughout time: no matter the scale of battalions, divisions and armies, no matter the catastrophically destructive capability of the weapons...it always comes down to the individuals killed or maimed and the ripple effect that changes those who knew and loved them. Thousands of people in Ukraine, Israel, Gaza, Syria and elsewhere are experiencing this even as I write.

“Easter Monday (In Memoriam E.T.)”

In the last letter that I had from France
You thanked me for the silver Easter egg
Which I had hidden in the box of apples
You liked to munch beyond all other fruit.
You found the egg the Monday before Easter,
And said, 'I will praise Easter Monday now -
It was such a lovely morning'. Then you spoke
Of the coming battle and said, 'This is the eve.
Good-bye. And may I have a letter soon.'

That Easter Monday was a day for praise,
It was such a lovely morning. In our garden
We sowed our earliest seeds, and in the orchard
The apple-bud was ripe. It was the eve.
There are three letters that you will not get.

Take a moment today to be grateful for the friendships you have. Consider reaching out to one or two friends to mention how much they mean to you. There may be letters that they will not get.