søndag den 6. marts 2011

Ein er tíðin at grína og ein er tíðin at gráta ...

Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away
into the next room.
I am I,
and you are you;
whatever we were to each other,
that, we still are.

Let my name ever be
the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all
that it ever meant.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we shared together.

I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well.     
brot úr yrking hjá Henry Scott Holland (1847 - 1918)

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