Let Cloud Shapes Swarm, / Let Chaos

The Middle Of The Road Is Where The White Line Is - And That's The Worst Place To Drive.

Never Discuss The Poem You Contemplate Writing. It's Like Turning On The Outside Spigot. It Takes All The Pressure Off The Upstairs Bathroom.

Happiness Makes Up In Height For What It Lacks In Length.

Some Say The World Will End In Fire, Some Say In Ice.

When A Friend Calls To Me From The Road And Slows His Horse To A Meaning Walk, I Don't Stand Still And Look Around On All The Hills I Haven't Hoed, And Shout From Where I Am, What Is It? No, Not As There Is A Time To Talk. I Thrust My Hoe In The Mellow Ground, Blade-end Up And Five Feet Tall, And Plod: I Go Up To The Stone Wall For A Friendly Visit.