Sonnet 130

I love this Sonnet (after, of course, the one that lives in my home), and I hope you will too.

Sonnet 130

By William Shakespeare

My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses demasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

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Buttermilk

I wrote this on an impulse back when I was in Saskatchewan, when in the middle of a quiet afternoon I drank a glass of fresh buttermilk, left over from an experiment the day before. I composed the verses, and then, highly excited, bumbled down the stairs like a hurricane to grab a piece of paper from my bedroom to write it down on. Poor Aileen didn't know what was up, and I was too much in a hurry to tell her!

Buttermilk

By Celeste Lawrenson

Locked inside the silky cream

Coax her to show herself.

Sleeping, having a sweet dream

Quiet, untouched by theft or stealth.

Wisdom, and a gentle hand,

Patience is required;

To make her bend to your demand,

And show the form desired.

Hand in hand with butter sits,

Friendly and free of care,

Each nature with the other fits

The shape and purpose they both share.

How timid they must feel

To show themselves alone!

To be naked and revealed,

Removed from friend and home.

The butter is the part we're wanting,

But the rest has tales to tell.

Pale, sweet, demure and taunting,

She will speak if you listen well.

Tales of silver and gold,

Of pearls and stormy seas,

Tales that never are told,

Of insults and gifts and cheese.

She has seen things you have not,

Been places you'd like to go.

She can be traded for what can't be bought,

And given for things you should know.

Drink her and she will nourish,

Share her and she will bless.

She'll change you and make you flourish,

-It's better than making a mess.

I don't claim to be a poet.

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Tons of Pictures from Goertzenville

Many moments of fun, hard work, and a labour of love. Heartwarming, uncensored, and hilarious.

In his natural habitat.

An example of varying levels of 'higher than thou'.

Crowding into the shade of the wilted flower.

Did the build drive us batty in the end? You decide.

It was better in real life.

No, this is not sharing. Only the more common case of stealing.

The young man attended them to their carriage. (Which is yet enroute.)

One of the three well-drilling days.

Kiddos working hard.

Cuteness alert! Three cute babes.

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A difficult and greatly unappreciated form of dance.

The interior design of the grand ballroom where we conducted committee meetings.

Scribblings of my Opa's found on the window trim of the old garage.

Finally done ALL the ducting!

Vacuming the ladybugs out of the chandelier.

Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it. Psalm 127:1

Thank you Isabelle and Sophie for helping me with the captions!

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#Goertzenville #mylife #pictures #goodtimes