by D. L. Fitzpatrick
Monday, April 07, 2003
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Love, sometimes, is tempestuous as spring, which dies, yet merits praise
though its glory is fleeting.
Love! We thought it would always be as
As our first sweet kisses, how wrong
What a lesson in the shame of
Wherein I fault you and you blame
And yet, is love not ment to go
By some dreadful and eternal
Ay, even great lovers did
To love's slow desent and final
You and I plucked love's rose, now
turned to dust;
We sang love's song whose notes are
But we knew love's rapture from gust
So shouldn't we give love a saintly
Should we not celebrate those wondrous
When love kept us from pain and many
Cd: Shakespeare The Bible And Me
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|Reviewed by Oisín Breen
|touching on a common theme that delights|
|Reviewed by A PAX
|This has me SMILING!!!
|Reviewed by Regina Pounds
|You make an eloquent plea for your cause. I'm tempted to cry, "Yes, you should!"
Really, why not be grateful for love you had? It's such a precious thing.
|Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader)
|Very good and emotional.
|Reviewed by T. Emilie Dybevik (Reader)
|You just like making a girl sob don't you? The yearning in here burns.
Reminds me of that song by Howard Jones, No One Is To Blame...one of those songs you like to listen to when alone in the car by yourself.
Also, that old saying about loving and losing... better than never knowing it at all...It comes to mind here. Wonderful Job David....