In other news, I have truly begun to delve deep into my law school reading. And honestly, I love it. I really missed actually reading academically stimulating material. And the books I have been reading aren't only academically stimulating, but also emotionally stimulating. I am now in the middle of reading about the life of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. This guy is hailed as one of the greatest pioneers in law. However, his life is really interesting in that he was super logical. So, I started thinking about whether I would like to have strictly professional success or both personal and professional success. Because, honestly, what is a life without family, love, humor and downtime? Although it would be amazing to be known for hundreds of years after my death, would I want to use every waking minute of my life working, working, working? What would make me feel fulfilled? Maybe these books are meant to stimulate my mind and my heart. Maybe they are there to make me think about what I want out of my law career. Because, honestly, I don't really know that yet.
Anyhow, I came upon a poem while reading the book, and I think it is a very sad, thought-provoking poem. Here it is.
The Last Leaf
By Oliver Wendell Holmes
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said--
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago--
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
