A Man Dies Still If He Has

I'll Teach You To Laugh At Something That's Funny!

A Small Rock Holds Back A Great Wave.

Like A Girl, A Baby Running After Her Mother, Begging To Be Picked Up, And She Tugs On Her Skirts, Holding Her Back As She Tries To Hurry Off—all Tears, Fawning Up At Her, Till She Takes Her In Her Arms… That’s How You Look, Patroclus, Streaming Live Tears.

I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf, In The Home Of A Man Without Fortune, One Whose Livelihood Was Meager, Than Rule Over All The Departed Dead.

We Mortals Hear Only The News, And Know Nothing At All.