"Good fences make good neighbors."
Said Robert Frost,
But summers after supper in Texas
Meant sitting out behind the house
Where all the yards joined in a vast
Green expanse.
Grownups in wooden chairs drinking ice tea
And talking
While cousins played in the cool
Broad green blades of
Of St. Augustine grass
That tickled
As we cartwheeled and
Somersaulted.
Our hair damp from humidity
And exertion
The waning light lasting until nine.
No fences
But great neighbors.
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