Gone Are The Birds That Were Our

Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

A Great Sorrow, Like A Mariner's Quadrant, Brings The Sun At Noon Down To The Horizon, And We Learn Where We Are On The Sea Of Life.

Man Is Always More Than He Can Know Of Himself; Consequently, His Accomplishments, Time And Again, Will Come As A Surprise To Him.

I Stay A Little Longer, As One Stays, To Cover Up The Embers That Still Burn.

Love Makes Its Record In Deeper Colors As We Grow Out Of Childhood Into Manhood; As The Emperors Signed Their Names In Green Ink When Under Age, But When Of Age, In Purple.