William-John-Holly

the ground left as muddy, the laundry as unfolded, the work as undone as the week before we found it. not with a whimper, but a self-congratulatory pat on the back and deaf ears to those of us who had worked for it; and the meddlers, or course, go on their high winds; like a yawn that does not fill the lungs, or an aborted sneeze, or a television cliffhanger meant to prime viewers and producers for a newer season never to come; how, indeed, must the folders feel now; Yey, through force alone and naught a lick of strategy they blunder; through what avenues does the hurricane wish to aid in laundry almost fully folded, and how must the fo