I Heard Someone Say Once That The

It Was November--the Month Of Crimson Sunsets, Parting Birds, Deep, Sad Hymns Of The Sea, Passionate Wind-songs In The Pines. Anne Roamed Through The Pineland Alleys In The Park And, As She Said, Let That Great Sweeping Wind Blow The Fogs Out Of Her Soul.

I Love Bright Red Drinks, Don’t You? They Taste Twice As Good As Any Other Color.

I Can't Help Flying Up On The Wings Of Anticipation. It's As Glorious As Soaring Through A Sunset... Almost Pays For The Thud.

She Was Richer In Those Dreams Than In Realities; For Things Seen Pass Away, But The Things That Are Unseen Are Eternal.

I'm Afraid To Speak Or Move For Fear That All This Wonderful Beauty Will Just Vanish... Like A Broken Silence.