Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby.

Rest At Pale Evening... A Tall Slim Tree... Night Coming Tenderly Black Like Me

Out Of The Rack And Ruin Of Our Gangster Death, The Rape And Rot Of Graft, And Stealth, And Lies, We, The People, Must Redeem The Land, The Mines, The Plants, The Rivers. The Mountains And The Endless Plain-- All, All The Stretch Of These Great Green States-- And Make America Again!

The Calm, Cool Face Of The River, Asked Me For A Kiss

To Create A Market For Your Writing You Have To Be Consistent, Professional, A Continuing Writer - Not Just A One-article Or A One-story Or A One-book Man.

Beauty For Some Provides Escape, Who Gain A Happiness In Eyeing The Gorgeous Buttocks Of The Ape Or Autumn Sunsets Exquisitely Dying.