It Was Here We Turned The Coffee

Tongues Wrangled Dark At A Man. He Buttoned His Overcoat And Stood Alone. In A Snowstorm, Red Hollyberries, Thoughts, He Stood Alone.

Didn't You Tie The Mittens On Her Feet (wednesday Evening's) Extra Special Nice? Yes--she Is An Extra Special Nice Pigeon. She Cries For Pity When She Wants Pity. And She Shuts Her Eyes When She Doesn't Want To Look At You. And If You Look Deep In Her Eyes When Her Eyes Are Open You Will See Lights There Exactly Like The Lights On The Pastures And The Meadows When The Mist Is Drifting On A Wednesday Evening Just Between The Twilight And Gloaming.

When One Has The Right Swing And Enthusiasm, Selling Is Not Unlike Hunting, A Veritable Sport. To Scare Up The Game By Preliminary Talk And To Know How Long To Follow It, To Lose Your Gain Through Poorly Directed Argument, To Hang On To Game That Finally Eludes, To Boldly Confront, To Quickly Circle Around, To Keep On The Trail, Tireless And Keen, Till You Have Bagged Some Orders, There Is Some Satisfaction In Returning At Night, Tired Of The Trail, But Proud Of The Days Work Done.

Under The Summer Roses When The Flagrant Crimson Lurks In The Dusk Of The Wild Red Leaves, Love, With Little Hands, Comes And Touches You With A Thousand Memories, And Asks You Beautiful, Unanswerable Questions.

Valor Is A Gift. Those Having It Never Know For Sure Whether They Have It Until The Test Comes.