Delicate as rag paper, purple corollas shudder.

Bridesmaids, they crowd in the big yard, treading the grass still wet with dew.

They turn and turn away, whispering secrets and giggling, waving their charming capes and straightening their parasols.

They have something not finished, solar.

I have not imagined anything other than fluid shirts.

Side tops in jersey, I miniaturized the drawing in a crazy liberty ...