Only The Rich Are Lonesome.

All Play And No Work Makes Jack A Mere Toy.

We Wear The Mask That Grins And Lies, It Hides Our Cheeks And Shades Our Eyes,- - This Debt We Pay To Human Guile; With Torn And Bleeding Hearts We Smile And Mouth With Myriad Subtleties. Why Should The World Be Otherwise, In Counting All Our Tears And Sighs? Nay, Let Them Only See Thus, While We Wear The Mask. We Smile, But, O Great Christ, Our Cries To Thee From Tortured Souls Arise. We Sing, But Oh The Clay Is Vile Beneath Our Feet, And Long The Mile; But Let The World Dream Otherwise, We Wear The Mask!

I Know What The Caged Bird Feels, Alas!

The Age Is Materialistic. Verse Isn't. I Must Be With The Age, So I Am Writing Prose.

Slight Was The Thing I Bought, Small Was The Debt I Thought, Poor Was The Loan At Best - God! But The Interest!