There Are Tones Of Voices

I Never Knew What Was Meant By Choice Of Words. It Was One Word Or None.

To Time It Never Seems That He Is Brave To Set Himself Against The Peaks Of Snow To Lay Them Level With The Running Wave, Nor Is He Overjoyed When They Lie Low, But Only Grave, Contemplative And Grave.

I End Not Far From My Going Forth By Picking The Faded Blue Of The Last Remaining Aster Flower To Carry Again To You.

Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against The Confusion Of The World.

People Are Inexterminable - Like Flies And Bed-bugs. There Will Always Be Some That Survive In Cracks And Crevices - That's Us.