I bought four peonies last weekend. I had forgotten how they smelled: rich, aromatic, but not as cloying as a rose.
When my mother was in her 90s, I brought her outside one day. 572 more words
We all know (and feel clever that we know) that J Alfred Prufrock is not TS Eliot. Furthermore, we know that Eliot is having a bit of fun at Prufrock’s expense. 1,050 more words