The Lilies Say: Behold How

I Wish I Could Remember The First Day, First Hour, First Moment Of Your Meeting Me; If Bright Or Dim The Season It Might Be; Summer Or Winter For Aught I Can Say. So, Unrecorded Did It Slip Away, So Blind Was I To See And To Forsee, So Dull To Mark The Budding Of My Tree That Would Not Blossom, Yet, For Many A May.

Hurt No Living Thing: Ladybird, Nor Butterfly, Nor Moth With Dusty Wing.

Hope Dead Lives Nevermore, No, Not In Heaven.

Hope Is Like A Hairball Trembling From Its Birth.

Silence Is More Musical Than Any Song.