In the corner of my


there lives a little imp.

He’s mischievous,

dark and playful,

and he reminds me

of those little things

that i care not to remember.


With a wink in his eye,

and a smile that’s not a smile,

he reminds me of such

little things,

such big things,

such longings and dreams,

even pain and travail.


His laugh has an echo,

this little imp

that lives

in my garden.



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