Inspiration from Jake's _Charleston_ and _The God's of Newport_
There is a garden by the brook ruins where the water lilies bloom, orange, yellow, and white. All in surfeit varieties where my desire once troweled roses, argh, sigh, for her young husband, the Lieutenant, but, but, not anon. Alas, there is that girl now old who cuckolded him for another lover in that day. I'm struck, and so too this ragged garden mirrors my celestial world. But there, the young Valentino boy watches, just sixteen, walnut eyes, chestnut skin, and brown wavy hair, like eyes through a keyhole of a scary old house, at the old lady's body obtuse, hemlock still in the uncut grass of this ancient garden where the woodbine and oleander twineth.