A Minute To Smile And An Hour

The Age Is Materialistic. Verse Isn't. I Must Be With The Age, So I Am Writing Prose.

I Hope There Is Something Worthy In My Writings And Not Merely The Novelty Of A Black Face Associated With The Power To Rhyme That Has Attracted Attention.

A Song Fluttered Down In The Form Of A Dove, And It Bore Me A Message, The One Word-love!

It's All A Farce, - These Tales They Tell About The Breezes Sighing, And Moans Astir O'er Field And Dell, Because The Year Is Dying.

We Reduce The Deity To Vulgar Fractions. We Place Our Own Little Ambitions And Label Them ?divine Messages?. With Our Short Sight We Affect To Take A Comprehensive View Of Eternity.