It Has Often Been Observed

Many Of Today's Verses Are Prose And Bad Prose.

Happiness, For You We Walk On A Knife Edge. To The Eyes You Are A Flickering Light, To The Feet, Thin Ice That Cracks; And So May No One Touch You Who Loves You.

Strangely, Dante's Divine Comedy Did Not Produce A Prose Of That Creative Height Or It Did So After Centuries.

I Have Always Knocked At The Door Of That Wonderful And Terrible Enigma Which Is Life.

I Do Not Go In Search Of Poetry. I Wait For Poetry To Visit Me.