The Man of Words

Sunrise aglow, she plucks a flower from his garden, in a stealth hush, she sees him serene this warden. Meanders even closer upon a sequestered creek She imagines a brush of his lips against her cheek. When a curious corgi barks and ignites a blush Her stroll again will end, amongst the grass so plush, verdant with an aura a somber amber green, ‘tis the first time this intruder has ever been seen. —I Am Relaxing in my garden chair blessedly alone, with my cup of soothing chai and Scottish scone. No TV, computer, iPod, kith or kin, my crossword puzzle I shall now begin. So, an eight-word name for a Mayan sink? A quika—I didn't even have to think! As the sun clears the rolling hills afar I'm done, a crossword superstar! My Corgi Hal licks my face in congratulations, as the sun-lit moor beckons her invitation. Such a simple, sweet, tranquil pleasure, Sunday morning crosswords, my priceless treasure. —R.G.