Put Your Soul In The Palm Of

The Winter Moon Becomes A Companion, The Heart Of The Priest, Sunk In Meditation Upon Religion And Philosophy, There In The Mountain Hall, Is Engaged In A Delicate Interplay And Exchange With The Moon; And It Is This Of Which The Poet Sings.

Along The Coast The Sea Roars, And Inland The Mountains Roar – The Roaring At The Center, Like A Distant Clap Of Thunder.

A Secret, If It's Kept, Can Be Sweet And Comforting, But Once It Leaks Out It Can Turn On You With A Vengeance.

I Suppose Even A Woman's Hatred Is A Kind Of Love.

The Snow On The Distant Mountains Was Soft And Creamy, As If Veiled In A Faint Smoke.