It’s part of the title of a Hubert Parry song, Radio 3 were playing it this morning. I think about my end and his often these days. I am, after all, immersed in death. And an acquaintance of his, perhaps friend, has been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver and his body is failing. It is everywhere. But then it always has been. Let me know mine end. Does the writer mean to know what that end will be or when? Or is it a plea to know that an end will come. All things pass. They do, don’t they, even the anxious and terrible things. Let it be. All of it.
