Love Can Do All But Raise The

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

A Bayonet's Contrition Is Nothing To The Dead.

I Stepped From Plank To Plank A Slow And Cautious Way

Each That We Lose Takes A Part Of Us; A Crescent Still Abides, Which Like The Moon, Some Turbid Night, Is Summoned By The Tides.

When He Tells Us About His Father, We Distrust Him. When He Shows Us His Home, We Turn Away, But When He Confides To Us That He Is Acquainted With Grief, We Listen, For That Also Is An Acquaintance Of Our Own.