Inside the white picket fence
and twined throughout the lattuce work,
roses of velvet red blossom
much too early for season.
Their velvet red drips into the scenery
flowing like black ink from the felt pen
of a poet's last dying emotion
to his long lost love.
A cool breeze teases the air
as a small boy sits before its walkway
gazing and pondering his
(
Read more... )