I have to go look up triolet again. I assume this is someone you knew. It would be a lonely life.
a solid triolet!
Yikes, I have never known a real hoarder!
Life behind walls of concrete surrounded by stuff does sound lonely and desperate. Your repetition sounds like walls- good choice.
This is about a man who lived across the street from the house we were purchasing. By the time we were moving in, the man died. Still they are carrying things from his home and are gutting the place.
Such a sad poem, Judy, poor man...
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