clôture de jardin

I'd wish myself worthy, were that pearly not so high

          Not the same
      As being lost,
    Grave-laid or spent-of-sound.
    It’s the cadence
      Of the half-found
          And their still-forested
                Way forward.
Misjudgements aren’t meant,
                Though untoward;
          They do tend
      To relent too late.
    I’d wish myself worthy,
    Were that pearly not so high;
      But I’m worth a sigh,
          At least,
                Or a monkish lie.
Maybe, then, I could chase
                That intent to an end
          I can get behind.
      When would words
    Be enough?
      But a touch?
          Forever knows
                No such framing fringe.
I’d be the first
                To somersault a cringe,
          Were it so.
      Build it, then,
    And mortar it with sky;
    Hang my why
      In the quiet confines
          Of your climbable

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