The trouble is, I'm in Scotland, home to many great poets. Notably, Robert Burns (also William McGonagal, world's worst poet. Not an insult, it says so on his memorial in Greyfriar's Kirk, where he's buried). Check him out--he's a romantic like nobody else. We have him to thank for comparisons of love to a "red, red rose." He says, "You're welcome."
Since I arrived in Scotland, I thought I'd take some inspiration from Burns. Not on the romanticism bit, but on the poetry bit. It would give a challenge and a reprieve all at the same time--what a deal! So, below is a poem. Cheers to you, Rabbie Burns and Scotland.
And there will be days of lawnmowers and clean laundry at home
Buzzing along in neighborhood yards, humming in the closet
In houses all along every street
And frenetic parks where I can think about this.
There will be days of well-stocked grocery stores
Overflowing with too many options of many things
And busying myself with getting and spending
And I’ll think of my days of walking and stopping
When I was as alone as a lighthouse,
Just as bright
With crashes and waves like anything else.
These are the days I’ll want when I’m waking for work
Stopping at the store on the way home
Fruit sacks in hand
And a travel tick in my heart.
I aim to keep this safe in my pocket
A reminder like a velvety stone
So when I get to those days of lawnmowers and clean laundry
I think back to the feathery days of being alone as a lighthouse
Just as bright.