![]() A Dry GardenA Poem by PerryThe hours I spend watching seasons from my window have increased of late. Today, my sister, Felice, came to my chamber, saying: "Gregory, the gate needs oiling." "Gregory, the roof is in disrepair." Disrepair? I should think so, yet I am loathe to leave this garden bower and the thrill of its funerary dreams.
© 2025 Perry |
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