Lost love

Mousie! (Photo credit: epicnom)

How sad my heart was on that day
You said you’d leave and go away,
How mixed the thoughts conveyed to me
Of what you felt things might have been.

You talked of moments when we’d met
And how so much you had regret,
That you had let a chance slip by
To be together you and I.

But then you found me once again
And thought that chance you could regain,
So when we met that second time
You clung to me just as the vine.

We talked, embraced and then we kissed
Whilst realising what we’d missed,
Your circumstances had sinced changed
Since first we met that winter’s day.

But then you thought it could not be
That you might come and stay by me,
Confused, not thinking, you’d resolve
To reject my undying love.

My sweetest love I wanted you
And so I said what you might do,
You have the time, you have the space
To meet your problems, face to face.

Now rest assured, my love is strong
And I will wait for you my love.

Copyright Shirley Anne 11 Aug 03

Some things are never meant to be are they? I am sure many have been down that road and have been left broken-hearted but we survived didn’t we? Some go on and find fulfilment and happiness, some find life difficult and lonely. Is it fate, is it simply bad luck? I do not believe in luck and I don’t necessarily believe we make our own destiny either. Remember the saying, ‘The best laid plans of mice and men’? Well actually it’s the best laid schemes, a quote from Robert Burns’ poem to a mouse……

We may have plans and dreams but nothing is laid down in concrete until it happens

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ wast,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald.
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, 
Gang aft agley, 
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, 
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!

Robert Burns

 Shirley Anne