A poor old Widow in her weedsSowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;Not too shallow, and not too deep,And down came April -- drip -- drip -- drip.Up shone May, like gold, and soonGreen as an arbour grew leafy June.And now all summer she sits and sewsWhere willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet,Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;Like Oberon's meadows her garden isDrowsy from dawn to dusk with bees.Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;And all she has is all she needs --A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

Men do suck.

Love is alcohol.

I like you, Tess.

Boat.Toby.1pm.Shit!

She is something else.

Absolutely. No more pretending!

Son," he said, "you monkeyed up.

Prove to me that you deserved it.

The whole summer was inside of us.

Summer is the season of wild birds.

I felt like summer had taken me over.

Tess, will you marry me?" Toby laughed.

Her legs swing complete afternoons away.

In summer the empire of insects spreads.