Sometime They'll Give A War And Nobody

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

Hope Is An Echo, Hope Ties Itself Yonder, Yonder.

We Don't Have To Think Up A Title Till We Get The Doggone Book Written.

I Learned You Can't Trust The Judgment Of Good Friends.

The Moon Is A Friend For The Lonesome To Talk To.