"Why do brown eyes see better in the sun than blue eyes?"
Erm... Now that's an interesting one to ponder. Personally, I'm a sucker for big brown puppy dog eyes, but I wouldn't have said they see any better than their baby blue counterparts.
Although, if this is a serious question, I'm sure science has a full and logical explanation. In my humble opinion, and putting aside colour, when it comes to some people, mentioning no gender, their eyes only see what they wanna see!
“I never had the least thought or inclination of turning Poet till I got once heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a manner, the spontaneous language of my heart.” Robert Burns – Commonplace Book, August 1783.
Whilst the Scottish Bard described his early poetry as “very puerile and silly”, there’s something to be said about the days when “my heart was honest, and my tongue sincere”.
You see, I found a temporary joy in attempting to write poetry the day a young man paid me a surprising compliment.
With a glow in his eyes
I felt desire rise
His gaze captivatingly sexy
Undulating with ecstasy
Was it just a professional thing?
Holding back a potential fling
Could it be for him it's just a game?
For me, it's turning to tearful shame
Him a youthful warrior
Me an ageist worrier
Well, just for the record, my heart has always been honest, even though I didn’t always listen to it, and my razor tongue approach may not have always been sincere, but it was the defence mechanism to my inner sanctum. A doomed marriage not only buried the ability to express the person I was, but also the things I most wanted out of life. It’s a little late for some of my dreams, I guess, but the only way forward is to overcome the hurt of a burnt-out heart, and find a way to serve up the love I have to share.
I daresay I’ll never be able to tell my muse how much his one-time compliment really meant to me, or how much I hurt myself over not believing, but here’s one of Mr Burns’ finest poems as a way of letting go of an abnormal farce.
A Red Red Rose a poem by Robert Burns
O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie loon,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.
Ok… so’ there’s been a tiny wee edit, as a tribute to that gorgeous young man who made me feel alive, inside out.
