Poetry Is A Dividend From What You

On The Day The World Ends A Bee Circles A Clover, A Fisherman Mends A Glimmering Net.

What Is Poetry Which Does Not Save Nations Or People?

A Day So Happy. Fog Lifted Early. I Worked In The Garden. Hummingbirds Were Stopping Over Honeysuckle Flowers. There Was No Thing On Earth I Wanted To Possess. I Know No One Worth My Envying Him.

At Every Sunrise I Renounce The Doubts Of Night And Greet The New Day Of A Most Precious Delusion.

I Am Not My Own Friend.time Cuts Me In Two.