Oh, my. vydalea, that is so scary! Wishing him a speedy and complete recovery!
I have signed up for an extra courseload in the program I'm in over this summer and next fall because, due to budget cuts, I may have trouble getting the courses I need - they won't be offered as often. So I'm studying on my porch swing or enjoying the weather in the garden pretty much all the time - not online much. I feel I am neglecting my MDC and facebook time. But Clay, if you are going to be putting up poetry every day, I will have to come by regularly! What collection is that de Lint story about Tom Bombadil? I'd love to read it! The mention of mermaids reminded me of this poem by John keats:
Lines on the Mermaid Tavern:
Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.
And, because this is the season to be outdoors, rather than hanging out in a tavern, however full of the souls of dead poets it may be, here is another by the same author about a witchy sort of woman who lives wholly out of doors, which I would love to be doing in June! I *would* want the odd pie of venison and bottle of Canary wine catered from the Mermaid Tavern to go with my berries and rose-dew, though.
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
And liv'd upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
Her Sisters larchen trees--
Alone with her great family
She liv'd as she did please.