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In the old man's garden the thyme grows old too soon, the onions in the parched soil bend their tops down to the ground, whimper and weep without a tear without a sound. Leeks and radishes he planted now crowd each other out, amid the weedy rabble, standing at attention till they finally weaken from the drought. Zucchini vines are barren and run riot in the grass; cornstalks whisper words of accusation as I pass. I can hear their whispers as I pass. Pepper plants are withering, the parsley's gone to seed. Tomatoes are un-nurtured and uncared for, show no promise and the spinach has succumbed so quietly that only he would have noticed. Corn stalks whisper words of consternation: what has happened, where is he, where did he go, I do not know. I don't know the answer. I don't know. |
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