Black Eyed Molly - Eva Cassidy

Deep and dark are my true love's eyes,

Blacker still is the winter's turning,

As the sadness of parting proves.

And brighter now is the lantern burning

That lightens my path to love.

No fiddle tune will take the air,

But I will see his swift feet dancing

And the swirl of his dark brown hair,

His smiling face and his dark eyes glancing

As we stepped out Blinkbonny Fair.

And if my waiting prove in vain,

Then I will pack and track ever take me.

The long road will ease my pain.

No jewel of mankind would ever make me

Whisper love's words again.

For in drink I'll seek good company,

My ears will ring with the tavern's laughter,

And I'll hear not his last sweet sigh.

And who's to know in the morning after

How I long for his dear dark eyes

How I long for his dear dark eyes

How I long for his dear dark eyes

M & A , with a three year old T.A.

Writing after a long time and as has been the case far too often in the recent past, it is about a little 'un.

Aged three, speaks pretty good English, striking brownish-green eyes on a face framed by curls, dressed in an electric blue sleeveless dress that had elaborate smocking on the yoke and at the hemline and with a bow behind that was at least 6 inches wide, and answers to the name Amy. You have the description now.

Met her at an event I was attending and she with her games and giggles was hard to miss among the old foggies that made up the rest of the party.

The lunch was done, folks were leaving and that's when I got introduced to her uncle, who is a Professor at a university in an area not far removed from my own.

Soon enough we were talking about the general state of academics, opportunities and career plans.

That's when she interrupted us.

"Uncle."

"Uncle, I am tired."

We continued our conversation and she grasped his palm when she repeated this time. Girls learn really young, the basics of getting undivided attention from a man.

"Uncle I am really tired."

He smiled at me, turned to look at her and said

"I am also tired, why don't you sit her beside me on this chair"

Her voice grew more insistent as she said

"No, I don't want to do that"

"If I sit there, I will fall asleep" she summed up her explanation

"And my clothes, they are wet" she added the killer punch.

He reached across and felt her dress and pointed out that it wasn't the case.

"They were wet, but dried off."

"I am tired, let's go" she continued.

At this point, I was ready to leave and stopped in my seat as I heard him say

"Two minutes, give me two minutes" holding up two fingers

Looking at him squarely in the face she replied

"One minute" holding up one of hers.

"Three minutes"

"One minute"

"Four minutes"

"One minute"

"Five minutes"

"OK, two minutes"

Needless to say, I was impressed. From all my past experiences with kids this age, I always thought negotiations never worked. Apparently they do.

She did interrupt him before his two minutes were up, but in true uncle fashion he turned indulgent and we got up to leave.

Finally as we were wrapping up our conversation. I asked him.

"So what exactly do you teach?"

"Mergers and Acquisitions" he replied with a straight face and the smiles were all mine.

I really don't know about his students or what ideas they acquire attending his classes, but he sure had acquired the affections of his niece in boundless measure.

Friendship day.

"Hello friend, happy friendship day !!!". the l'il un marched up to me and stretched out his hand. I did grip it firmly and give him a man to man handshake.

His world is all about Spidey and Ben10. The greatest failure of the crushing kind he envisions is losing to his sister in an internecine rivalry over who possesses the object of desire in all of kid-land - the newest toy.

And I, well I don't really know much about me.

But we are friends.

Birdie for l'il Victoria

Partition time - > young widow from Sindh reaches Madras -> Sons enter business -> Grand daughter meets Keralite -> Love ensues -> two kids follow -> spied me with the hook and yarn -> insisted on a gift for her 'to be born'

Post-delivery enquiry about gift -> 10 minute google search -> few days effort -> Li'l Victoria gets her birdie blanket

Muse

Every writer has one. That one person, thought or feeling that makes him write. The reason for which he pours out emotions in ink on paper. The anticipation of the reception his words will get. The satisfaction sought amongst the appreciative smiles of the reader.

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