valentine's day, continued
Yesterday was William Shakespeare. Today is Dorothy Parker.
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet --
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet --
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
posted by sophie at 11:05
4 Comments:
Beautiful, but sounds mercenary!
The potting soil that grows the strongest roots of true love (which develops over decades) is poverty and mutually shared challenge. Started in that soil, true love can later withstand the rigors of limousines.
ditto that one! We are curious about these mysterious new surroundings you find yourself in.
Dot
Um, that was a little while ago. Please post! You'll be glad to know that I am starting to take responsibility for the crap I recieve in the mail and have been sorting it and deciding for myself what is important for records. I still have a stack for you though. You lucky thing, you.
How sad, and yet appropriate, that this blog suddenly ended on Valentine's Day. Or maybe I project my dejected, lonely heart on you when you are, in fact, touring the world in a limousine with the man of your dreams. Curses upon you.
Sharon and I had an argument last week related to the comment left by "Dad." I said I would feel robbed of that important living-on-love-and-baked-beans stage if my first married housing were anything better than a hovel. She thought that was stupid. In future I will send her to Dad Stradling for explanation.
Bring back the blog, Suzanne.
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