April Is The Cruellest Month.

Wait Without Thought, For You Are Not Ready For Thought.

Only By Acceptance Of The Past, Can You Alter It

He Had A Mind So Fine That No Idea Could Violate It

So First, Your Memory I'll Jog, And Say: A Cat Is Not A Dog

The Winter Evening Settles Down With Smell Of Steaks In Passageways. Six O'clock. The Burnt-out Ends Of Smoky Days. And Now A Gusty Shower Wraps The Grimy Scraps Of Withered Leaves About Your Feet And Newspapers From Vacant Lots; The Showers Beat On Broken Blinds And Chimney-pots, And At The Corner Of The Street A Lonely Cab-horse Steams And Stamps. And Then The Lighting Of The Lamps.