Scent of Parisian Autumn blown in by the wind

A doorstep mottled with white and 'Prioritaire'

Inscribed upon the lid; I imagined him

Opening my message in the country:

An escape from the horrors of the everyday world

And other people; in a garden in sunlight

Sundials peppering the lawn, amber peacocks

Strutting in a cornucopia of light and shadow

And defecating on the roses, the roses which

Stretched in military lines through the garden

And beyond, basking in sunshine, my few words,

Hypocrit, I reader, my brother.