Hello, November!

Dear Diary,

Today has brought with it a brand new day, along with its graying skies and chilled dew. As I sit here, the beginnings of a particular Shakespearean sonnet come to mind…

“That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang…”

Take care everyone.

 

Love,
Phoebe and Samantha


Phoebe and samantha

Let Him Speak for Me…

A few words by Shakespeare which speak more truthfully than any piece I could write at the moment…

The flaming sighs that boil within my breast
Sometime break forth; and they can well declare
The heart’s unrest, and how that it doth fare,
The pain thereof, the grief, and all the rest.
The watered eye, from whence the tears do fall,
Do feel some force or else they would be dry…

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