October 2, 2018

MUD

Her hair was the color of mud in July
and her skin had the smell of perfume.
When she walked in the room she would light up my eye
for her eyes were as bright as the moon.
Often I think back to when I was high
on a love which was pure and abloom
but summer and romance have long passed me by
and my memories reek like a tomb.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?

- The Lays of Ancient Rome

✤ ✤ ✤ ✤ ✤

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

- Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam