Response to TEXT 137
It is just a pocket handkerchief piece of lawn
But it is upkept diligently gently
I imagine my father’s island lover
On her knees trimming the little
Swords of grass with her nail scissors
And my mother humphing
And turning over in her grave.
The years will bring them together
Flesh to dust and bones to powder.
Lust dies but love remains.
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