a journal with poems written on the fly without much ado |
| She Let Her Garden Go She let her garden go to the weeds, rising over her head, to the moss and the mildew, invading the stone walls, as she sat among the reeds because her world fell for he just couldn't listen to what she was saying. Missed He gave her the moon then took it back and hid it behind the clouds. Poor fellow! In the dark of the night, he missed her curtsy as she left for good. |