|
|
|||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The White Garden Dark now, a chase of shadows when the moon dips behind clouds as you trip-toe, tip-toe home on flagstone paths, past beds of low box edging squares. Lit now by white, torches of lilies and peonies, fairy-light gypsophila and glow worms of jasmine day-bright in the fullness. Scent of night stocks, mock-orange guide you to the book's new page so that this is how it would be. |
|
|