I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No

Man Is A Long Time Coming. Man Will Yet Win. Brother May Yet Line Up With Brother: This Old Anvil Laughs At Many Broken Hammers.there Are Men Who Can't Be Bought.

I Make It Clear Why I Write As I Do And Why Other Poets Write As They Do. After Hundreds Of Experiments I Decided To Go My Own Way In Style And See What Would Happen.

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar, And There Is A Hippopotamus In Me That Wants To Wallow In The Mud.

Arithmetic Is Where Numbers Fly Like Pigeons In And Out Of Your Head.