Cheltenham: CHS Facade edition with preface

#1131
She goes to a lake, thinks of me there,
looks into copses, breathes in forests,
sleeps in log cabins, picks flowers, early
autumn quivers, & waits to be told
by sprung nature what she already
knows; there’s no getting out of this
one, for either of us— not this love.
It’s just that the ideals are now laid
to rest, of who we could’ve been
all around, as the decent citizens we
wanted to be. Mauve sunrise, exquisite,
that’s in the bank; but we know now
what isn’t; & the bank’s composition.
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