The grass is mere
The evening cold & clear & frosty

She killed a pig with feeding it over much
The owls had hooted a ¼

The Roses in the garden are fretted & battered &
Sick & ill & obliged to come home

My inside was sore with the cold & sate there
A frightful, Dirty, brick housey tradesmanlike

The peas are beaten down
The Scarlet Beans want sticking

I made a shoe
Under no particular affliction

No letters!
A Drench of sleep