If A Man Is Not Faithful To

We Are Like Trees. We Wear All Colors Naturally.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.

I Have Forgotten Much, But Still Remember The Poinsiana's Red, Blood-red In Warm December.

Adventure-seasoned And Storm-buffeted, I Shun All Signs Of Anchorage, Because The Zest Of Life Exceeds The Bound Of Laws.

It's When You Are Down That You Learn About Your Faults.