The Real Me

I'm nothing but a sad little runt whose bark is no scarier than its bite. Wait, I don't even bite. But I'll promise you the world, if you would only love me again.

She Walks In Beauty
Written by: Lord Byron (1788-1824)

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

I read the poem at the Convent's school library because no teaching internship stuff had been assigned to me yet, and the very first person I thought of was...





You.










The soul is not where it lives, but where it loves. -Anonymous

Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man, who can find? -Solomon (Proverbs 20:6)