Something There Is That Doesn't Love A

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

Let Him That Is Without Stone Among You Cast The First Thing He Can Lay His Hands On.

Than Smoke And Mist Who Better Could Appraise The Kindred Spirit Of An Inner Haze?

The People I Am Most Afraid Of Are Those Who Are The Most Afraid.

Summary Riposte To The Dreary Wail There's No Knowing What Love Is All About. Poets Know A Lot.