Children Use The Fist Until They Are

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless; That Only Men Incredulous Of Despair, Half-taught In Anguish, Through The Midnight Air Beat Upward To God's Throne In Loud Access Of Shrieking And Reproach

Souls Are Gregarious In A Sense, But No Soul Touches Another, As A General Rule.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways.

The Plague Of Gold Strikes Far And Near.

Folded Eyes See Brighter Colors Than The Open Ever Do.