“I once had a rose named after me and I was very flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: ‘No good in a bed, but fine up against a wall’.”

Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.

If I bent like you said was best would that change a thing?