The time will comeWhen, with elation
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror
And each will smile at the other's welcome
You will love again the stranger who was yourself,
Who knows you by heart.
And say, sit here. Eat. Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger
Who has loved you all your life,
Who you ignored for another.
Take down the letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit, feast on your life.
(Derek Walcott)
I love the playfulness of this. And the luck-o'-the-Irish green.
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