picked up when I should have gone home.
They can be the hardest.
He was filled with pain.
With love. And with pain.
He spoke of his wife.
And the longing…
Later, I remembered this…
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
by Thomas Moore. An Irishman, of course...