Continuation

The cabbages
are dancing in the sun
means     nothing.
The garden stands still

as a lake would,    only
leaves of cabbages, lit
and dancing,
yes        dancing.

You called me ma petite
choux      circa 1987
back when I was
your     little     cabbage.

This poem is for my writing class. The assignment was to take the last line of a poem we wrote this semester and make a brand new poem. I think that was the assignment. Anyway, that's what I did.