Today’s Advent poem comes from from one of my all time favourite poets and fellow sinner, John Donne (1572-1631) – of “No Man is an Island” fame.
Holy Sonnet VII: At the Round Earth’s
A statue of Donne dressed in his funeral shroud in St Paul’s London. Courtesy: Google Images
At the round earths imagin’d corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
From death, you numberlesse infinities
Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
All whom warre, dearth, sage, agues, tyrannies,
Despaire, law chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
‘Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,
When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
Teach mee how to repent; for that’s as good
As if thou’hadst seal’d my pardon, with thy blood.
John Donne
y wife and I go camping it is very unusual if we don’t end up near water. We love camping near rivers, lakes and, especially,the ocean. Some of our most memorable camping experiences have been next to water of some sort. In a blog I did over a year ago – 
almness to fury and back again. A raging angry river, a placid sea or an agitated lake all remind us of traits in ourselves. There are other aspects. Some watery places are secluded and intimate, others are large and expansive and still others are mischievous or treacherous. Recently walking along the beach I noted that the most dangerous part of the ocean wasn’t the foaming surf but the dark rip of water that could have taken an unsuspecting swimmer hundreds of terrifying metres out into the ocean.
s, at about the time Anne has a stroke. We then see the struggles that this stage of life introduces them to and their attempts to deal with that. 
Travels from Ur 