I Only Hope That When I Am

We Ran As If To Meet The Moon.

My Long Two-pointed Ladder's Sticking Through A Tree Toward Heaven Still, And There's A Barrel That I Didn't Fill Beside It, And There May Be Two Or Three Apples I Didn't Pick Upon Some Bough. But I Am Done With Apple-picking Now. Essence Of Winter Sleep Is On The Night, The Scent Of Apples: I Am Drowsing Off.

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.

I Go To School The Youth To Learn The Future.

You Don't Have To Deserve Your Mother's Love. You Have To Deserve Your Father's.