Are There No Stones In Heaven But

So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life, Or As Sweet Seasoned Showers Are To The Ground.

Thou Weigh'st Thy Words Before Thou Givest Them Breath.

Like A Barber's Chair That Fits All Buttocks.

Keep Thy Foot Out Of Brothels, Thy Hand Out Of Plackets, Thy Pen From Lender's Books, And Defy The Foul Fiend.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Or Anger