My favorite Christmas song, thanks to dear Balthazar in that fourth verse:
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
My gothic heart just soars.
Snow is pouring down here in Upstate NY, and I wish I were home to walk about amid the soft flakes in Mount Auburn cemetery.
Merry Christmas to all!
Unrelated Note: Do any of my Boston area friends have *coughcough* Word for Macintosh software which I could *coughcough* borrow?