Wilted by window
Your leaves like bound feet,
There’s yellow in your green,
You’re dying.
Was it water or sun?
Drenching or drought?
Which action of mine
Hurt you the most?
Soon your stems will be sticks
Brittle, dry black,
And your foliage fallen
To the once-living soil
And I still won’t know why
This happened.
Everyone thinks I just adore hats, but the secret is I only wear hats that can be a Hatmit. What is a Hatmit, you say? It originally sat on my shelf branded for someone's grandpa to wear- I've been to
“Oh, dear,” my mother-in-law says in a concerned voice. She is reading County Down local news on her I-pad. “What is it?” I ask. “There was a man found dead in his house. They say that judging by the
