In Our Age, If A

You Must Believe A Poem Is A Holy Thing, A Good Poem, That Is.

I Teach My Sighs To Lengthen Into Songs.

I'm Sure I've Been A Toad, One Time Or Another. With Bats, Weasels, Worms...i Rejoice In The Kinship. Even The Caterpillar I Can Love, And The Various Vermin.

Should We Say The Self, Once Perceived, Becomes The Soul?

In Our Age, If A Boy Or Girl Is Untalented, The Odds Are In Favor Of Their Thinking They Want To Write.