I will knit him a jumper for the seas,
Soft as the breast of mourning dove,
As he, so far away from, recedes,
To embrace him sure as I am gone.
O, my laddie, my love!
I will sew grandest socks for keeping,
Soft and warm as the summer oceans,
To spindle his feet at long fires for me,
Betrothals we promised under moon.
O, my laddie, my dove!
And I will write him such sonnets so fair,
Even the stars all nightfall shall swoon
And I shall fiddle, with poets, sweetest airs,
Counting the days till when he returns.
O, my laddie, my truest one!
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC
I will knit him a jumper for the seas,
Soft as the breast of mourning dove,
As he, so far away from, recedes,
To embrace him sure as I am gone.
O, my laddie, my love!
I will sew grandest socks for keeping,
Soft and warm as the summer oceans,
To spindle his feet at long fires for me,
Betrothals we promised under moon.
O, my laddie, my dove!
And I will write him such sonnets so fair,
Even the stars all nightfall shall swoon
And I shall fiddle, with poets, sweetest airs,
Counting the days till when he returns.
O, my laddie, my truest one!
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