One Must Ask Children And Birds How

Our Passions Are True Phoenixes; As The Old Burn Out The New Straight Rise Up From The Ashes.

The Rose Is Wont With Pride To Swell, And Ever Seeks To Rise.

Names Are But Noise And Smoke, Obscuring Heavenly Light.

All Understanding Begins In Wonder!

Superstition Is The Poesy Of Practical Life; Hence, A Poet Is None The Worse For Being Superstitious.