We've had a bit of difficulty, scarlatti
and I, over the last couple of days. Some of you know why.
I wanted to reassure her, to try and help her to realise what I really
want long-term, to try and help her to realise that I find her irresistibly attractive.
I thought I had a poem somewhere. I could remember reading it, I knew it said part of what I wanted to say. But I couldn't remember a single word of it when I tried to quote it to myself.
I woke up early this morning, made a concerted effort to find it. And now I've found it, I know why I couldn't remember it.
It's not in English, that's why. By a cruel irony, it's in Welsh. Mediaeval Welsh, at that. But it's still beautiful, it still says (part of) exactly what I like about her.( Collapse )
Somehow, I doubt she can read mediaeval Welsh. And although I don't have the translation to hand, I'm fairly sure this is the bit that I wanted to quote.
I don't think the translation would be terribly work-safe.