Sorrow Was Like The Wind. It Came

Somewhere Beyond The Sink-hole, Past The Magnolia, Under The Live Oaks, A Boy And A Yearling Ran Side By Side, And Were Gone Forever.

It Is Not That Death Comes, But That Life Leaves.

He Who Tries To Forget A Woman, Never Loved Her

It Seemed A Strange Thing To Him, When Earth Was Earth And Rain Was Rain, That Scrawny Pines Should Grow In The Scrub, While By Every Branch And Lake And River There Grew Magnolias. Dogs Were The Same Everywhere, And Oxen And Mules And Horses. But Trees Were Different In Different Places.

It Seems To Me That The Earth May Be Borrowed But Not Bought. It May Be Used But Not Owned. We Are Tenants, Not Possessors, Lovers And Not Masters.