Not Really Pink Eye

For all of you who called me PINKY. It's not pink eye, ha. It was just very irritated.

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I am a sweet-a-holic. A sweet-nothings-junkie. Mike says that I'm addicted. It's like crack. I love sweet things. Last night, after The Wilds banquet, Mike and I went to BAMM. He read TIME while I wandered and found a couple of books.

But that's not really the point I was trying to get at. I found a book of love poems and was reading a few of them to Mike. ("i carry your heart" by e.e. cummings is a poem he hates...it makes him think of me carrying around a heart in a jar...ew...) And I asked him to pick one out to read to me and coincidentally enough, he picked one of my favorites:


"To A Young Lady" by William Cowper
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid—
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes;
Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,
And Heaven reflected in her face.

Sweet Points!!!