He Was A Silent Fury Who No

Go Strip Off Your Clothes That Are A Nuisance In This Mellow Clime. Get In And Wrestle With The Sea; Wing Your Heels With The Skill And Power That Reside In You, Hit The Sea's Breakers, Master Them, And Ride Upon Their Backs As A King Should.

Everything Is Good . . . As Long As It Is Unpossessed. Satiety And Possession Are Death's Horses They Run In Span.

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

Socialism, When The Last Word Is Said, Is Merely A New Economic And Political System Whereby More Men Can Get Food To Eat.

The Ghostly Winter Silence Had Given Way To The Great Spring Murmur Of Awakening Life.