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And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

My filly’s whinny, timid trill: I’m sitting by this icy rill, In wintry, frigid wild?

Past gardens have included impressive boulder-strewn waterfalls, trickling rills and reflective ponds.

All this lethal offal seeped and oozed into the ground, into the rills and runnels that flowed beneath our town, where we all drank well-water.

Water, and lack of water, is a recurring theme, represented by two ponds connected by a dry rill.