Charge of the Weight Brigade

I am not sure why, but this morning I had Tennyson’s poem, “The Charge of the Light Brigade”, running through my brain. (His poem is at the end of this post.) I must have memorized it sometime in school.  When I weighed my self this morning, I was down a half of a pound from yesterday.  Then this happened:

Half a pound, half a pound

Half a pound downward,

All in the valley of Life

Moved the six hundred

“Downward, the Weight Brigade

Head for the scale”, she said

Into the valley of Life

Went the six hundred

 

Cookies to the right of them,

French Fries to the left of them,

Ice Cream in front of them

That’s as far as I got, but it is more than enough isn’t it?  Maybe I am missing those who have fallen by the wayside while some of us continue.  I miss my buds who started this program with me more than a year ago.  Maybe it is also because of the news, because there is a war on – a war against women, against people of color, against GLBT people, and against our very planet.  We need courage, lots of courage.  We need heart.  Ours is but to do and live.  We cannot let Glory fade.

Enough, it is am unseasonal rainy day here.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.
II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
   Someone had blundered.
   Theirs not to make reply,
   Theirs not to reason why,
   Theirs but to do and die.
   Into the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.
III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
   Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
   Rode the six hundred.
IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
   All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
   Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
   Not the six hundred.
V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
   Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
   Left of six hundred.
VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
   All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
   Noble six hundred!
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