Friday, January 31, 1997

January has been so short! Maibie just another 30 or 31 days of a month for you, but It has been practacly here and gone for me. Dad and Lindsay went to Greece, and Russell and I stayed home and took turns on the computer. Dad told me his favorete Sonnet. It's # 34. It goes like this:

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth, without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'er take me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in thier rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my sun-beaten face,
For no man well of such salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the discrace.
Nor can thy shame give phisic to my grief;
Though thou repent, I have still the loss.
The ofender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.

Ah! but those tears are pearl wich thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.


I say one sonnet equals one person. Everyone can relat to one of Shakespere's sonnets, whether they like reading Shakespere or not. I love Shakespere, and I am begining to understand his way of writing.
Dad and I had a talk, and he appoligized for being so busy and not having time for me sometimes. I said it's okay, and he read me his favorete Shakespere sonnet. I love my dad. . .I hate the divorse, and I wish it were all a dream, and I would wake up and Mom and Dad would never have fought, and they made up and everything were fine and I were in 1st grade again and in North Carolina. Then I would know the future, and try to prevent it. This is a dream. All a dream, just a dream. I wish. Well, Good-Night! (today was realy great!)