Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
Notes
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
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Comments
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This is most profound as much is going on here. Twelve o' clock is a magical hour. The day is half over and if night the night is half over or it begins a new day. The end of the poem does leave a thoughtful day. JUst what i sthe poet saying?
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Ahh what a most wonderful read.
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i just wrote on this under a week ago... well on tagore. and i own the crescent moon. all of those reading this, go buy. now.
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