Aye, Well, He'll Be Wed A Long

And Finally I Put Down The Last And The Best Advice I Knew, On Growing Older. 'stand Up Straight And Try Not To Get Fat.

And I Mean To Hear Ye Groan Like That Again. And To Moan And Sob, Even Though You Dinna Wish To, For Ye Canna Help It. I Mean To Make You Sigh As Though Your Heart Would Break, And Scream With The Wanting, And At Last To Cry Out In My Arms, And I Shall Know That I've Served Ye Well.

I Wasn't Used To Living Crowded Cheek By Jowl With Numbers Of Other People, As Was Customary Here. People Ate, Slept, And Frequently Copulated, Crammed Into Tiny, Stifling Cottages, Lit And Warmed By Smoky Peat Fires. The Only Thing They Didn't Do Together Was Bathe - Largely Because They Didn't Bathe.

The Colors Of Living Things Begin To Fade With The Last Breath, And The Soft, Springy Skin And Supple Muscle Rot Within Weeks. But The Bones Sometimes Remain, Faithful Echoes Of The Shape, To Bear Some Last Faint Witness To The Glory Of What Was.

Sometimes,' He Whispered At Last, 'sometimes, I Dream I Am Singing, And I Wake From It With My Throat Aching.' He Couldn't See Her Face, Or The Tears That Prickled At The Corners Of Her Eyes. 'what Do You Sing?' She Whispered Back. She Heard The Shush Of The Linen Pillow As He Shook His Head. 'no Song I've Ever Heard, Or Know,' He Said Softly. 'but I Know I'm Singing It For You.