The garden sits vacant all during the sunny parts of the day, save a pair of little, roaming turtles. I get home from work, and stop in to smell the roses quite often, but then I repair to my house, hungry, sleepy, needy for I don't know what.
The garden deserves so much better. The gardener and the landlady keep it in perfect condition. It's a trophy wife, always perfectly dressed; on the shelf.
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