Wednesday, June 26, 2013

My Shakespearian Epistle from Home

Hark thou, my dearest sister who is residing across that which separates the old from new; where art thy letters abundant for our aching ears? dost thou render them to pieces ere they leave thy pen? dost thou, o sister, forget thine (across that which separates the old from new), and leave all records for weeks on end, till they be but a passing glory in thy memory, which fades slight, with words clear, but a portrait ever fading? wilt thou not share with us thy joys of present, so that, when thou returnest hither from yon, we too may have a portrait of those places which thou hast been? and wilt not thy words of the now be better than those of a later date, more attuned to the time, place, and atmosphere, than a fleeting memory?
Harken thou my words, o sister fair...else it be sore with thee when thou returnest (which thou must do, or shalt I not ever see thee again?)
Hasten thy reply! We are in sore straits!
Thy brother who is named by the color of his curls upon his head...

7 comments:

Rachel said...

Which sister are you talking to? :?

Rachel said...

Sorry. What I mean to say is, I agree with "Thy brother who is named by the color of his curls upon his head..."

coderunners said...

Thank you for the update on the trip. Good to hear you're still alive at least :-)

Keri On said...

Good lad, he.

Lauren said...

(-; Go Red!

Four for France said...

Okay, Sarah, so the whole "I'm-just-having-too-much-fun-enjoying-Europe-to-bother-blogging-about-it"-thing was cute as long as you were with me and I knew what you were doing. Now? No so much! THROW US A STINKIN' BONE! We're dying here!

Red said...

The moral of this story is - no matter how far-fetched you go to get information from a sister in Europe, you won't get any! That's why she needs a supervisor...any volunteers? :)