Dec 2010
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.
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.
