Where on earth but in the heart of an artist.
Three Beeches by Paul RansonYou are for me
My capacity for sentimentality is boundless on Sundays, friend.
Ah, but Monday I wilt for want of you.
I can’t bear the hours from here to there and time marks in me an anxiety similar to bereavement.
And in those hours my Sunday, our Eden, is no more than my fear for your leaving.
My love my care,