Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

I Cannot Live With You, It Would Be Life, And Life Is Over There Behind The Shelf

To Possess Is Past The Instant; We Achieve The Joy, Immortality Contented, Were Anomaly.

I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet-/yet Confident They Run.

The Sweets Of Pillage Can Be Known To No One But The Thief, Compassion For Integrity Is His Divinest Grief.

After A Hundred Years Nobody Knows The Place, Agony, That Enacted There, Motionless As Peace.