I entered through your garden gate;
a summer hush
no sign of us
just the grove of
words
you grew
for her.
I returned home
a silhouette,
to tend my hothouse
of regret.
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 26, 2010 at 10:35 AM UTC
I entered through your garden gate;
a summer hush
no sign of us
just the grove of
words
you grew
for her.
I returned home
a silhouette,
to tend my hothouse
of regret.
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