Home Is The Place Where,

When The Spent Sun Throws Up Its Rays On Cloud And Goes Down Burning Into The Gulf Below, No Voice In Nature Is Heard To Cry Aloud At What Has Happened. Birds, At Least Must Know It Is The Change To Darkness In The Sky. Murmuring Something Quiet In Her Breast, One Bird Begins To Close A Faded Eye; Or Overtaken Too Far From His Nest, Hurrying Low Above The Grove, Some Waif Swoops Just In Time To His Remembered Tree. At Most He Thinks Or Twitters Softly, 'safe! Now Let The Night Be Dark For All Of Me. Let The Night Be Too Dark For Me To See Into The Future. Let What Will Be, Be.

I'm Always Saying Something That's Just The Edge Of Something More.

It Is Only A Moment Here And A Moment There That The Greatest Writer Has. Some Cognizance Of The Fact Must Be Taken In Your Teaching.

Writing Free Verse Is Like Playing Tennis With The Net Down.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.