The 12th Sundrop
...Everybody is talking strangely...
It's funny. When I was younger, Mother brought me this book of poetry by this English playwright, and it was all about love and life. I think she was trying to teach me something about the world, but I was too young to understand it.
Though, there was this one poem I remember. The man who wrote it sounded like he was insulting this woman he said he loved...I never understood it. He loved her, but kept saying everything that was wrong with her...Mother said that by pointing out her flaws, the man was trying to say that no matter how many things weren't right with her, he loved her anyway. Just like how my mother loved me.
I think I liked that poem, but it's been a long time since I've read it...does anybody know what I'm talking about? It'd be nice to read it again...
It's funny. When I was younger, Mother brought me this book of poetry by this English playwright, and it was all about love and life. I think she was trying to teach me something about the world, but I was too young to understand it.
Though, there was this one poem I remember. The man who wrote it sounded like he was insulting this woman he said he loved...I never understood it. He loved her, but kept saying everything that was wrong with her...Mother said that by pointing out her flaws, the man was trying to say that no matter how many things weren't right with her, he loved her anyway. Just like how my mother loved me.
I think I liked that poem, but it's been a long time since I've read it...does anybody know what I'm talking about? It'd be nice to read it again...