Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's

March Is The Month Of Expectation, The Things We Do Not Know, The Persons Of Prognostication Are Coming Now. We Try To Sham Becoming Firmness, But Pompous Joy Betrays Us, As His First Betrothal Betrays A Boy.

Faith-is The Pierless Bridge Supporting What We See Unto The Scene That We Do Not.

The Sun Just Touched The Morning; The Morning, Happy Thing, Supposed That He Had Come To Dwell, And Life Would Be All Spring.

September's Baccalaureate A Combination Is Of Crickets - Crows - And Retrospects And A Dissembling Breeze That Hints Without Assuming - An Innuendo Sear That Makes The Heart Put Up Its Fun And Turn Philosopher.

Tis Not That Dieing Hurts Us So- Tis Living- Hurts Us More.