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March 26, 2008

Dave: Sing, O Muse

"I wrote you a love song."

She glanced up from her book in surprise. "You did?"

"Yeah, it's not very good." He stood up, cleared his throat, and croaked out a few lines. His voice wasn't strong, his pitch wavered, his sense of rhythm was occasional, and the lyrics were -- well, there weren't any poets laureate out there worrying.

He trailed off, looking at her, watching her face. "It, um, it's not very good, I guess. Maybe if I could play guitar or something --"

She smiled at him, got up, and took his hands. "Enough with the love singing. Let's start with the love dancing."

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