Another Thing Much Too Commonly Seen, Is

In Prison Wearily, Drearily, Half The Day Long, Flap The Great Banners High Over The Stone; Strangely And Eerily Sounds The Wind's Song, Bending The Banner-poles. While, All Alone, Watching The Loophole's Spark, Lie I, With Life All Dark, Feet Tethered, Hands Fettered Fast To The Stone, The Grim Walls, Square Lettered With Prisoned Men's Groan. Still Strain The Banner-poles Through The Wind's Song, Westward The Banner Rolls Over My Wrong.

I Half Wish That I Had Not Been Born With A Sense Of Romance And Beauty In This Accursed Age.

Another Thing Much Too Commonly Seen, Is An Aberration Of The Human Mind Which Otherwise I Should Have Been Ashamed To Warn You Of. It Is Technically Called Carpet-gardening. Need I Explain It Further? I Had Rather Not, For When I Think Of It, Even When I Am Quite Alone, I Blush With Shame At The Thought.

That Talk Of Inspiration Is Sheer Nonsense; There Is No Such Thing. It Is A Mere Matter Of Craftsmanship.

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.