I read a Happy Birthday poem on the radio (ABC Coffs Coast) – from Jonathan Swift to Stella, Esther Johnson, probably his secret wife. Dedicated to Wyn.
Stella’s Birthday, March 13, 1727
This day, whate’er the Fates decree,
Shall still be kept with joy by me:
This day then let us not be told,
That you are sick, and I grown old;
Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and pills.
To-morrow will be time enough
To hear such mortifying stuff.
Yet, since from reason may be brought
A better and more pleasing thought,
Which can, in spite of all decays,
Support a few remaining days:
From not the gravest of divines
Accept for once some serious lines.
Stella had been ill for a while and died ten months later, aged 49.
Early on the beach, always something of wonder appears. Two species of red algae:
