I Never Feel More At Home Than

In A Glass Of Cider It Seemed I Was A Mite Of Sediment That Waited For The Bottom To Ferment So I Could Catch A Bubble In Ascent. I Rode Up On One Till The Bubble Burst, And When That Left Me To Sink Back Reversed I Was No Worse Off Than I Was At First. I'd Catch Another Bubble If I Waited. The Thing Was To Get Now And Then Elated.

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

The Vermont Mountains Stretch Extended Straight; New Hampshire Mountains Curl Up In A Coil.

Tolerance Is The Uncomfortable Feeling That In The End The Other Could Be Right.