Deep In Their Roots, All Flowers Keep

Over Every Mountain There Is A Path, Although It May Not Be Seen From The Valley.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.

All Lovers Live By Longing, And Endure: Summon A Vision And Declare It Pure.

And I Walked, I Walked Through The Light Air; I Moved With The Morning.

So Much Of Adolescence Is An Ill-defined Dying, An Intolerable Waiting, A Longing For Another Place And Time, Another Condition.