...but I blog naetheless. Is my judgment impaired? Probably. Will I be indiscreet? One can only wish that my being indiscreet would be of any interest to anyone...
...but I blog naetheless. Tomorrow I hope to go to the Branch Brook park for cherries.
When I was one and twenty, I heard a wise...no, no, wait.
Erm, apologies to Housman:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now of my threescore years and ten,
TwentyThirty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a scoretrente,
It only leaves me fifty more
It’s some forty for which I’m meant—eh.
And since to look at things in bloom
FiftyForty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Huh. I used to be able to do that by heart, but I had to run to the library to do that.
Yes, Aaron, I am sure the meter is just as heavy-handed as the original. But I liked the original. Yes, it’s tripe, but, as I just said, I am quite drunk.
11:35:17 PM 
|
