On my name...

My middle name has been a haunting thing of import of a sudden lately. My first name is obvious in its reference, but with your dream of passage with Christ Himself through waters so cold they woke you, and the day we had yesterday, it does not surprise me that my middle name is that of a river that is commemorated by Robert Burns (Scotland's bard) in poetry. Afton is the river and also my name. The song itself was inspired by a woman's home, called Afton Lodge, on the banks of the Afton River. The Mary is probably Mary Campbell, who Burns courted there. What a beautiful timeless ode to the places we've gone lately, my dear.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing theea song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dream.
Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistly blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton,thy neighboring hills,
Far mark'd with the coursesof clear winding rills;
There daily I wanderas noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands,the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shadesmy Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot wheremy Mary resides;
How wanton thy watersher snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets,she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton,amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river,the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleepby thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton,disturb not her dreams.