Alright. I'm admitting to a dweeb (see definition) moment: I'm going through a poetry phase. Yes, it's true. And, unlike my [more] insecure high-school self, I'm totally unafraid of admitting it.
Photographing all of these families this fall has renewed my awe and wonder at marriage and family. It's caused a good bit of thinking on the integral and irreplaceable role they have in society. So, without further ado, a does of poetry for this beautifully Christmas-y Tuesday:
:: SONNET 116 ::
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Enjoy,
Rachel
