| Excerpts from the Crow & Benjamin Letters
2.3 Crow, It’s the latest hour to be asking but the streets are pouring and my good luck reckless and infatuated the reaper sharpens never lets stale the season Mother curls her full head of hair and laughs at our pecking Have you an explanation? Today I feel the contrary hope of autumn — Chocolate lanterns, butterflies under glass crisp under feet — all send their love. How passes your time? Steady and temperate here a slow burn. — Benjamin ← ↑ → |
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