That Is My Being, The Madness Of

Life Isn't All Beer And Skittles; Few Of Us Have Touched A Skittle In Years.

To A Young Poet Time Cannot Break The Bird's Wing From The Bird. Bird And Wing Together Go Down, One Feather. No Thing That Ever Flew, Not The Lark, Not You, Can Die As Others Do.

You Are Loved. If So, What Else Matters?

How Strange A Thing Is Death, Bringing To His Knees, Bringing To His Antlers The Buck In The Snow . . . Life, Looking Out Attentive From The Eyes Of The Doe.

We Think-although Of Course, Now, We Very Seldom Clearly Think- That The Other Side Of War Is Peace.