A Red, Red Rose

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
     And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
     As any she belied with false compare.

Shakespeare talks about women like a man in love, all the time. It's crazy. This and "A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns came to mind last night, as for the first time, I received my first bouquet of roses. They were beautiful, don't get me wrong, long-stemmed and a coral color that makes you think of happy thoughts. But it wasn't really the flowers that got me. It was the circumstance. I always imagined my first bouquet to be from someone that loved me... and given the events of the last few months, it was evident to me that that kind of relationship was never to be found.

Then it dawned on me. I don't even like roses. Orchids are the way to be. They're classier, beautiful, and totally not run-of-the-mill. AndI hate to say it, but as much as I want the kind of love that "a red, red rose" can get me...

I'll take the orchids instead.