I Will Go To The Garden. I

It Is Hard Going To The Door Cut So Small In The Wall Where The Vision Which Echoes Loneliness Brings A Scent Of Wild Flowers In The Wood.

The Awful Thing, As A Kid Reading, Was That You Came To The End Of The Story, And That Was It. I Mean, It Would Be Heartbreaking That There Was No More Of It.

Moon, Moon, When You Leave Me Alone All The Darkness Is An Utter Blackness, A Pit Of Fear, A Stench, Hands Unreasonable Never To Touch. But I Love You. Do You Love Me. What To Say When You See Me.

Suddenly The Whole Imagination Of Writing And Editorial And Newspaper And All These Presumptions About Who Am I Reading This, And Who Else Other People May Be, And All That, It's So Grimly Brutal!

The Lady Has Always Moved To The Next Town And You Stumble On After Her.