I Hope You Love Birds Too. It

Love Is Like The Wild Rose-briar; Friendship Like The Holly-tree. The Holly Is Dark When The Rose-briar Blooms, But Which Will Bloom Most Constantly? The Wild Rose-briar Is Sweet In Spring ,its Summer Blossoms Scent The Air; Yet Wait Till Winter Comes Again, And Who Will Call The Wild-briar Fair? Then, Scorn The Silly Rose-wreath Now, And Deck Thee With Holly's Sheen, That, When December Blights Thy Brow, He Still May Leave Thy Garland Green.

In The Name Of The Bee And Of The Butterfly And Of The Breeze, Amen!

Truth - Is As Old As God-.

To Make A Prairie It Takes A Clover And One Bee, -

I Like A Look Of Agony, Because I Know It's True - Men Do Not Sham Convulsion, Nor Simulate, A Throe