The other week I was sitting in an office with no toys to play with, just a shelf of books (I guess they don't have children in their waiting rooms often... I guess they don't have me in their waiting rooms often). But I did find something to occupy my time while waiting. I found a book with the biographies of all the different greek gods (I really wanted to keep that book, or purchase it... but I don't think they were for sale... in an office waiting room... ha). The book was great for hiding my camera behind so I could take a pointless picture and not be yelled at by the receptionist. The book was also great for some poetry, which I baby scribbled down into my notebook so that I could come around to this day where I recite it to you here:
They wove bright fables in the days of old,
When reason borrowed fancy’s painted wings;
When truth’s clear river followed o’er sands of gold
And told in song it’s high and mystic things!
And such the sweet and solemn tale of her
The pilgrim heart, to whom a dream was given,
That led her through the world – love’s worshipper – To seek on earth for him whose home was heaven!
I think that's a wonderful poem and I think they wrote it about me, but doesn't everyone these days, think they're a god? Or am I just hanging around too many Godly creatures these days who truly are Gods? I'm not quite sure. But that poem was definitely written about me.
Always for a he... dear me! xoxo