Dec. 24th, 2008

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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?




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