A story told through time here.
I went looking for the garden of my mother and lo! I found my own.
Never speak to women/unless you speak of flowers,
illustrate your garden/ and walk with them past fountains
but never let them carry your secrets/ they are lapses.
The dead leave us starving with mouths full of love.
For time has not seen her
Thus all the keener.
Mother is the name of God in the lips and hearts of all children.
Death ends a life but not a relationship.
The plot currently unfolds with this:
The sky had never seemed so sky, the world had never seemed so world ....Nothing ... had ever been so interesting .
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:59 PM December 16, 2003: Message edited by: Bęthberry ]
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I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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