Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such

I Do Not Know What It Is About You That Closes And Opens;only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

When Man Determined To Destroy Himself He Picked The Was Of Shall And Finding Only Why Smashed It Into Because.

Guilt Is The Cause Of More Marauders Than History's Most Obscene Disauders

Life's Not A Paragraph And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis

The Sweet Small Clumsy Feet Of April Came Into The Ragged Meadow Of My Soul.