A birthday__Christina Rossetti

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.


I love dogs.

But in Paris they are ugly sometimes.

They walk like their masters.

Jjong jjong.

When it rains they poo poo more than usual.

Then again there is a different kind too.

A master-dog type. A real relationship.

I yawn.

I put a music to my ears, to my heart.

99% of it.

Somebody told me that it was a question of taste.

Then it must be my taste.