Dear Monty,

I am cold in throat and bones.
Weak sun
The garden Italianate in its appearance cheers me

Then as if by some mystical communication
A post-card from Siena
Piazza del Campo
From Charles Hawes

In another strange parallel
He has a cold
And the weather breaks

I'm looking at winter bones
Through thinning leaves -
Each season gives generously

I'm not melancholy.



  1. AND you star (well, rather quietly!) here, too!


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