May 4, 2012
For this act of love, I wrote the following note and stuck it in one of your favorite books on our shelf:
I loved you as I wrote this,
And I love you still,
I love you as you read this,
Pray I always will!
Which book? I’m not telling. Given that it’s one of your favorite books, though, I’m sure you’ll find the note eventually. Or, after reading this, you’ll bug me until I tell you. Actually, the latter’s so likely it’s almost certain.
January 16, 2012
For my second act (of the acts you seemed to most enjoy from the first 100 days—see day 107), I gave you a white rose. You certainly enjoy your weekly flowers, but you’ve come to expect them (which isn’t a bad thing). So I wanted to surprise you by bringing you a flower I don’t usually bring on a day you don’t usually get flowers.
With the rose, I wanted to give you a line of poetry written by me (which is something I haven’t done before through 365). Nothing big, just a single line of poetry. I spent a bit of time while doing chores trying to think of something nice, something elegant. I’m definitely not a poet, so I wasn’t expecting Pushkin-quality writing. But everything I came up with smacked of sappiness. So, I started over and embraced and even exaggerated the sappiness. Here’s what I gave you:
Less beautiful is this here rose,
Than either of your little toes,
And when I look upon your knee,
I’m filled with rapture and with glee,
No elbows found in all the land,
Are finer, neater, or more grand,
And if one looks upon your chin,
His adoration does begin,
No man nor child would hesitate,
Your uvula to adulate,
No waterscape with moonlit sand,
Could rival your pineal gland,
Your ears do strike each passerby
As prettier than earth and sky,
So all in all, you see, my dear,
You’re beautiful from toe to ear.
PS: Perhaps the world’s not ready for my poetic genius.
January 3, 2012
Last night, I read you this poem by John Masefield:
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain;
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest thing of beauty God ever has shown to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.
When I finished, you said that I was sweet to read you that poem. Then you told me that the things I said in your letter were things you prayed I would realize. Then, you asked me to read the letter to you. That would’ve been nice, but I refused because I was too embarrassed (but I wasn’t embarrassed to read you this poem? Odd.). I should read it to you if that’s what you’d like.