poem (practically in the alleyway)
p oem (practically in the alleyway) The pink house is Now behind rough leafage. Probably oleanders. Sundown Tints the tips yellow.The roof Tiles enjoy themselves. The Bush decides to divide, A covenant with the wind. Demuring to the green, the Weeds are terrifying. The taller Pipes are uprooted. A telephone pole has called for Ambience. Hell, it all sounds Like a bandleader. The Parliament is grand and bellowing.