Green, also, the grapes on the green vine Shading the brickred porch tiles. The money's run out. How nature, sensing this, compounds her bitters. Ungifted, ungrieved, our leavetaking. The sun shines on unripe corn.
Cats play in the stalks.
But always expose The scraggy rock spit shielding the town's blue bay Against which the brunt of outer sea Beats, is brutal endlessly.