She Poured A Little Social Sewage Into

She Whom I Love Is Hard To Catch And Conquer, Hard, But O The Glory Of The Winning Were She Won!

Perfect Simplicity Is Unconsciously Audacious.

Poetry Is Talking On Tiptoe.

Earth, The Mother Of All, Moves On Her Stedfast Way, Gathering, Flinging, Sowing. Mortals, We Live In Her Day, She In Her Children Is Growing.

What A Woman Thinks Of Women Is The Test Of Her Nature.