Poem for Monday

From 'The Gardener'
by Rabindranath Tagore

Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep
I fear lest I lose you when I am sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.
I ask myself, "Is it a dream?"
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart and hold them
fast my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

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My cable, which was briefly on after midnight, is down again. There was a windstorm here yesterday and apparently the trees falling on above-ground lines had some impact on subterranean cable lines. So I am going to be slow, and I am not going to be able to answer the phone if you're trying to call me while I'm hogging the line with my modem.

Meanwhile, after taking forever to download my mail I actually counted the spam (and I have my mail tools set to delete automatically anything with mortgage, viagra, amateurs, sluts, porn, HGH, add inches or weight loss in the subject line, so this is the stuff that gets through anyway -- not that I am opposed to amateurs or porn, just to the extremely low quality and poor spelling of internet spammers interested in sending me e-mail on those topics). I got nine offers to give me a bigger penis. If I answered all of them, would I have a 27-inch penis by the end of the week? Could I sue, if not?