I Begin To Think That None Are

The Little Cares That Fretted Me, I Lost Them Yesterday Among The Fields Above The Sea, Among The Winds At Play.

Nosegays! Leave Them For The Waking, Throw Them Earthward Where They Grew Dim Are Such, Beside The Breaking Amaranths He Looks Unto. Folded Eyes See Brighter Colors Than The Open Ever Do.

Books Are Men Of Higher Stature, And The Only Men That Speak Aloud For Future Times To Hear.

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

Whoso Loves, Believes In The Impossible