|Hey lookie there, original art.|
The GardenerThe Gardener by fyoot
"The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer god's heart in a garden
than anywhere else on earth."
-Dorothy Frances Bloomfield Gurney
I water half-dead seedlings in the afternoon,
while the sun is scorching piles of mown grass,
and the smell of decaying flowers hangs
heavy in the air. I dig the weeds
up by the root as the world turns lazily
and the bees hum their dirges sleepy warm
and everything is quite
I'm shamed at every half a worm unturned
by my spade, and sizzling on the path,
And each resilient weed I later burn, filling
the air with clouds of living smoke,
which curls and drifts and fades.
in the cool of late afternoon, as the sun
hangs in globules broken by houses just above the horizo
Vengeful Lemons - A collab.Vengeful Lemons - A collab. by fyoot
Citronella was a fair young maid
And Citrus was her beau.
'Til late one night, an' she abed,
Poor Citrus he did go
A-questing for the pilchard-tree
So deadly was his foe!
The maiden sighed when she awoke;
She knew- ere word was said
Where her dear youthful knight had gone,
Then fill'd her heart with dread.
For pilchardfish are strong and cruel-
Her love might soon be dead!
Young Citrus he went questing on,
But though the youth was brave;
Dark fear was always at his back,
And in his head- the Grave.
Until he stopp'd and rested him
Inside a darkling cave.
But in the cave there was a stream
And by the stream a tree
That hight the rainbow pilchardthing
There swam great fishes, three.
Poor Citrus, he slept hapless on
An' those fish did not see.
The fish- ycladd in slimy gore
From their cold deathpool crept
And happ'd upon brave Citrus there,
And kill'd him, while he slept.
Then dragged him back to the chill stream
For there their meal they kept.
Fair Citronella then awoke
As though in wakin