Omar

He loved the book he clutched.

As a young boy, his father would sometimes say that ‘the moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on’. The origin of these words was not fully known until, during his school years, he had immersed himself in anything he could find on Greek Mythology from the town’s library. In his lifetime, looking back, he had never really known how the book first came into his readings. No doubt this happened while searching in that well-frequented library. His discovery of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a wonderful poem translated from Persian to English, had opened something in him. Quite apart from its dealing with the age-old questions of life and death, the tongue-in-cheek references to God and spirituality appealed to his young mind. Within the verses, despite their dealing with weighty topics, he found the poetic approach, along with a humorous slant, had made the reading of it enjoyable.

That joy had remained with him throughout his long life. This tatty, soft-covered version is now held tight.

This morning the carer found him and tears welled in her eyes. This gentle old man had been one of her favourites. Because of his failing sight, she had read the quatrains to him of an evening.

Now, in his endless sleep, its time to ‘turn down an empty Glass.’

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