Size / / /

for Sovay

He is not a lord like Milord Byron;

None of us is beneath his notice.

He sits in bushes and spies on us.

When the moment is right we go into his sack.

He empties that sack in a dreary garden

Where souls are planted in long straight rows,

Sending up leaves as thick as your hand

And a stalk with clusters of shiny, black fruit.




Tony Grist (http://poliphilo.livejournal.com) was born in London and lives in Oldham, England, on the edge of the Pennine hills. He keeps rabbits and likes to take photographs of churches.
Current Issue
18 Nov 2024

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It was always a beautiful day on April 22, 1952.
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Little Lila by Susannah Rand, read by Claire McNerney. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: Spotify
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