Don't Write Too Much. Concentrate Your Sweat

Love, Genuine Passionate Love, Was His For The First Time.

It Was The Worst Hurt He Had Ever Known.

He Had Learned Well The Law Of Club And Fang, And He Never Forewent An Advantage Or Drew Back From A Foe He Had Started On The Way To Death. He Had Lessoned From Spitz, And From The Chief Fighting Dogs Of The Police And Mail, And Knew There Was No Middle Course. He Must Master Or Be Mastered; While To Show Mercy Was A Weakness. Mercy Did Not Exist In The Primordial Life. It Was Misunderstood For Fear, And Such Misunderstandings Made For Death. Kill Or Be Killed, Eat Or Be Eaten, Was The Law; And This Mandate, Down Out Of The Depths Of Time, He Obeyed.

The Marriage Tie Becomes Possessed Of A History And Takes To Itself Traditions. This History And These Traditions Form A Great Fund, To Which Changing Conditions And Growing Imagination Constantly Add. And The Traditions, More Especially, Bear Heavily Upon The Individual, Overmastering His Natural Expression Of The Love Instinct And Forcing Him To An Artificial Expression Of That Love Instinct. He Loves, Not As His Savage Forbears Loved, But As His Group Loves.

Then One Can't Make A Living Out Of Poetry? Certainly Not. What Fool Expects To? Out Of Rhyming, Yes.