Robert Louis Stevenson

Here's my triolet, summing up the life of RLS in eight lines.
(Some incidents have had to be omitted.)


The garden was unending to the child
but Mr Hyde was there behind each tree.
A high bright sun smiled down; the breeze was mild;
the garden was unending. To the child
the trees were masts. He sailed across the wild
South Seas until he reached his final quay.
His Eden seemed unending; he was beguiled;
and Mr Hyde was there, behind each tree.

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