I Write To Find Out What I

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors.

You've Often Heard Me Say - Perhaps Too Often - That Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation. That Little Poem Means Just What It Says And It Says What It Means, Nothing Less But Nothing More.

Writing Free Verse Is Like Playing Tennis With The Net Down.

Ah, When To The Heart Of Man Was It Ever Less Than A Treason To Go With The Drift Of Things, To Yield With A Grace To Reason, And Bow And Accept The End Of A Love Or A Season?

God Made A Beauteous Garden With Lovely Flowers Strown, But One Straight, Narrow Pathway That Was Not Overgrown. And To This Beauteous Garden He Brought Mankind To Live, And Said "to You, My Children, These Lovely Flowers I Give. Prune Ye My Vines And Fig Trees, With Care My Flowers Tend, But Keep The Pathway Open Your Home Is At The End." God's Garden