rose-and-white-fringed

Updated: May 9, 2025

Old Giovanni at the helm, boatman upon this lake since youth, used long since to murmuring words, to touching hands, stayed brown and wrinkled and silent and unspeculative as a walnut. Perhaps his mind was sunk in his own stone hut behind vine leaves. The two under the rose-and-white-fringed canopy leaned toward each other. "Tell me of your strange, foreign land! Have you roses there roses roses?

Mary Johnston - Foes