No Tears In The Writer,

(soft Petals, Yes, But Not So Barren Quite, Mingled With These, Smooth Bean And Wrinkled Pea;) And Go Along With You Ere You Lose Sight Of What You Came For And Become Like Me, Slave To A Springtime Passion For The Earth. How Love Burns Through The Putting In The Seed On Through The Watching For That Early Birth When, Just As The Soil Tarnishes With Weed, The Sturdy Seedling With Arched Body Comes Shouldering Its Way And Shedding The Earth Crumbs.

Before Now Poetry Has Taken Notice Of Wars, And What Are Wars But Politics Transformed From Chronic To Acute And Bloody?

You Can't Trust God To Be Unmerciful. There You Have The Beginning Of All Wisdom.

The Father Is Always A Republican Toward His Son, And His Mother's Always A Democrat.

Butterflies...flowers That Fly And All But Sing.