Robert Burns, regarded as Scotland’s national bard, wrote his poem likening his love (one of many, as Rabbie was something of a lover of the ladies) to a red, red rose. But in these modern days of technology, when we indulge in a bit of nostalgia by collecting memorabilia and junk from the past, and when we perhaps equate love with something different than what many might see as a hackneyed and mushy red rose, I wondered what other items our love might be compared with. So here goes.
My love is like a wonderful meal…especially something sweet and delicious.
My love is like a work of art…or perhaps a film star.
My love is like a telephone box. Really? Well, a number of years ago when many of these old boxes were sold off, thousands of people bought one, desperate to have one in house or garden. So obviously an item many people cherished.
My love is hot and fiery, like chillies.
My love is…well, perhaps we’d better not go there!
My love is free as the breeze, enjoys new experiences, being blown here and there like the wind in a red sail.
Love is like rhododendron flowers. In Victorian times, and till today, many plant hunters from Scotland went out into the world’s wilds to identify plant species and bring back seeds. Rhododendrons became enormously popular, the wild form now considered a pest to be eradicated from our countryside.
Some people, men mainly, have a passion for dressing up and re-enacting historic battles — better than indulging in domestic battles, though. So their loves might well be seen as historic damsels in distress, or ladies whose hands they fight battles to win.
Did your loved one fight for you?
Old romantics might see this as the ideal conveyance for an afternoon picnic or a romantic evening drive. Providing the horses behaved, of course.
Fishnet tights, and the cancan may be a turn-on for some, but few would deny that a few days in Paris for Valentine’s day or in the spring (or any time really) is a delight, the ideal place for a bit of romance.
Postie, postie please don’t tarry
Take this to the one I’ll marry
My love is like a red, red… Okay this rose isn’t red, more a deep pink. But, guess what folks? It’s the only red rose I have amongst thousands of photographs, and it’s one of a wild rose. But I rather think a wild rose would have appealed to Rabbie more than a cultivated one.