Words uttered by those in close acquaintance with the god father of all writing. The expresser of love. The creator of tragedy. They apply here, as the weakened foundations of my heart are pounded upon. The plundering attacks are unknown by the assailant, but they rain down on the pumping hillside without fault.
This only happens in the movies, only happens in fiction. Surely I am not just another character in The Bard’s writing? Surely we are not all playing a part in one of the greatest playwright’s imagination? Why does it feel so? In times like these?
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Stop calling me surely!
ReplyDeleteSee, I left a cheap, old gag, to let you know that I passed through here ...
Question (out of genuine ignorance)is it let 'thy' be renewed or let 'thee'?
dC
"Love, let THY be renewed". 'thee' wouldn't make sense in the context...don't I sound like an old english professor?
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