God's Gifts Put Man's Best Dreams To

My Patience Has Dreadful Chilblains From Standing So Long On A Monument.

With Stammering Lips And Insufficient Sound I Strive And Struggle To Deliver Right The Music Of My Nature.

There Are Nettles Everywhere, But Smooth, Green Grasses Are More Common Still; The Blue Of Heaven Is Larger Than The Cloud.

I Saw, In Gradual Vision Through My Tears, The Sweet, Sad Years, The Melancholy Years, Those Of My Own Life, Who By Turns Had Flung A Shadow Across Me.

Like To Write? Of Course, Of Course I Do. I Seem To Live While I Write - It Is Life, For Me.