Her Voice Left A Flavor Of Honey

All Lives Are Composed Of Two Basic Elements," The Squirrel Said, "purpose And Poetry. By Being Ourselves, Squirrel And Raven, We Fulfill The First Requirement, You In Flight And I In My Tree. But There Is Poetry In The Meanest Of Lives, And If We Leave It Unsought We Leave Ourselves Unrealized. A Life Without Food, Without Shelter, Without Love, A Life Lived In The Rain—this Is Nothing Beside A Life Without Poetry.

This Creature Is The Pooka. Pay No Mind To The Shape He Wears, For He’s None Of His Own, And No Soul Either. Ware Him Ever, Trust Him Never, But When The Wind’s Right He Has His Uses. Never Forget That You Will Never Know Him. The Pooka’s Mystery Even To The Pooka.

What Happened Instead Was That The Tree Fell In Love With Him And Began To Murmur Fondly Of The Joy To Be Found In The Eternal Embrace Of A Red Oak. "always, Always," It Sighed, "faithful Beyond Any Man's Deserving. I Will Keep The Color Of Your Eyes When No Other In The World Remembers Your Name. There Is No Immortality But A Tree's Love.

It's Really Not So Good To Have Time. Rush, Scramble, Desperation, This Missed, That Left Behind, Those Others Too Big To Fit Into Such A Small Space--that's The Way Life Was Meant To Be. You're Supposed To Be Too Late For Some Things. Don't Worry About It.

...but The Enchantment Of Error That You Put On Me I Must Wear Forever In Your Eyes.