We really must get going, the Little Bug and I, as it is getting late in the morning, but first I wanted to leave you with one of my favorite Tennyson poems "Break, Break, Break". I share this with you now because it has something to do with something I'm writing and it has been in my head for the last 48 hours. (And by the way, when I say "I'm writing", it's hardly ever on paper or on the computer but in my head. That's how I do all my writing, in my head, and it feels as if I'm composing music when it goes write. Perhaps that is why I when I write with pen or computer I do so to music, typically classical, sometimes movie soundtracks.)
Without further adieu, I give you Lord Alfred...
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill:
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.