For her

Earlier tonight I was trying to come up with a way to tell my wife how I feel about her beyond that three word phrase--wasn't necessarily trying to come up with a poem or anything, no knock-yer-socks-off-sonnet or swoon-inducing lyric (tho' I'm never one to pass up a swoon)...just something more.

I was sweeping up after dinner, muttering all stream-of-consciousy, brainstorming. And that old Robert Burns poem came tumbling out--lousy accent and all. First three verses anyway--word perfect, I should add (took a quick prompt from a page google found me to get the last one re-cemented). Which I found fairly impressive as I did a rush-memorizing job of it back in '93 in order to impress some girl who was left totally cold by it anyway.

Circumstances interfered, and I didn't get to hit TLomL with the verse--accent would've killed the intended effect anyway, so can't complain too much.

Nevertheless, sentiment fits, so here it is.

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
   That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
   That's sweetly play'd in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
   And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
   Tho' it were ten thousand mile.