If Writers Were Too Wise, Perhaps No

People Can Be Slave-ships In Shoes.

Among The Thousand White Persons, I Am A Dark Rock Surged Upon, And Overswept.

I Thought That When They Said Atlantic Charter, That Meant Me And Everybody In Africa And Asia And Everywhere. But It Seems Like The Atlantic Is An Ocean That Does Not Touch Anywhere But North America And Europe.

Her Old Thoughts Were Going To Come In Handy Now, But New Words Would Have To Be Made And Said To Fit Them.

The Morning Air Was Like A New Dress. That Made Her Feel The Apron Tied Around Her Waist. She Untied It And Flung It On A Low Bush Beside The Road And Walked On, Picking Flowers And Making A Bouquet… From Now On Until Death She Was Going To Have Flower Dust And Springtime Sprinkled Over Everything.