On this base the myth is built,
And towers rise from it;
The buried paper is guilt,
And flowers disguise it;
The silent garden exposed,
And cabana shade is gone,
And wither’d paper closed
While weeds eat the lawn.
A lake now sits where water dripped,
And no memorial was raised
Where ancient history hid the script
Of old leaked heartbeats days.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Sand and Snow
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