By Robert Burns
O were my Love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing;
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my Love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa';
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.
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Happy Beltane! This is yet another quickie because I was out with Mila and her beautiful family at Bilbo Baggins Restaurant! We ate far too much (baked brie, gnocchi, white chocolate bread pudding, and that was just me), but it was wonderful to see her -- the last time I did, she was younger than my older son is now! -- and delightful to meet her husband and children, who even let us play with their Blue's Clues toys.
We got home in time for Dig, which justified my love by doing certain things I pretty much expected and one thing I did not expect at all. I am still wondering how they're going to explain why the extremist ultra-Orthodox Jews are working with the lunatic Fundamentalists, but it touches on real-world Israeli problems with that unholy political alliance, so I am hoping that all gets addressed next week in the season finale!
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