If You're Looking For Something To Be

Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against The Confusion Of The World.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

The Reason Why Worry Kills More People Than Work Is That More People Worry Than Work.

For I Have Had Too Much Of Apple-picking:i Am Overtired Of The Great Harvest I Myself Desired.

Let Those Possess The Land, And Only Those, Who Love It With A Love So Strong And Stupid That They May Be Abused And Taken Advantage Of And Made Fun Of By Business, Law, And Art.