Oh, Womanly Sympathy, Love And

For I Had Come Back, And I Dreamed Once More In The Cool Air Of The Highlands. And The Voice Of My Dream Still Echoed Through Ears And Heart, Repeated With The Sound Of Brianna's Sleeping Breath. "you Are Mine," It Had Said. "mine. And I Will Not Let You Go.

Only You," He Said, So Softly I Could Barely Hear Him. "to Worship Ye With My Body, Give Ye All The Service Of My Hands. To Give Ye My Name, And All My Heart And Soul With It. Only You. Because Ye Will Not Let Me Lie--and Yet Ye Love Me.

Do Ye Dare To Draw Arms Against The Justice Of God?" Snapped The Tubby Little Judge. Jamie Drew The Sword Completely, With A Flash Of Steel, Then Thrust It Point-first Into The Ground, Leaving The Hilt Quivering With The Force Of The Blow. "i Draw It In Defense Of This Women, And The Truth," He Said "if Any Here Be Against Those Two They'll Answer To Me, And Then God, In That Order.

I Do Know It, My Own. Let Me Tell Ye In Your Sleep How Much I Love You. For There's No So Much I Can Be Saying To Ye While Ye Wake, But The Same Poor Words, Again And Again. While Ye Sleep In My Arms, I Can Say Things To Ye That Would Be Daft And Silly Waking, And Your Dreams Will Know The Truth Of Them. Go Back To Sleep, Mo Duinne.

Time Is A Lot Of The Things People Say That God Is. There's Always Preexisting, And Having No End. There's The Notion Of Being All Powerful-because Nothing Can Stand Against Time, Can It? Not Mountains, Not Armies. And Time Is, Of Course, All-healing. Give Anything Enough Time, And Everything Is Taken Care Of: All Pain Encompassed, All Hardship Erased, All Loss Subsumed. Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust. Remember, Man, That Thou Art Dust; And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return. And If Time Is Anything Akin To God, I Suppose That Memory Must Be The Devil.