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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.
 

 

 

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