(no subject)
It can't be my Weasley. There's another who lived in the deserts of Austrailia I'm told, right outside amongst the wallabies, no less. It must have been that one, not mine. Daddy is looking into it. He calls The Daily Prophet by a different name, The Daily Rubbish, which is very funny when he says it in that nasal voice he likes to pretend with sometimes.
It really can't be my Weasley.
Why does nothing look pink as it usually does?
But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses and songs never sung.
Silentium Amoris
It really can't be my Weasley.
Why does nothing look pink as it usually does?
But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses and songs never sung.
Silentium Amoris