The Heart The Heart The Heart How

War Is A Fevered God Who Takes Alike Maiden And King And Clod.

...if You Do Not Even Understand What Words Say, How Can You Expect To Pass Judgement On What Words Conceal?

O Beautiful White Land, Olives And Wild Anemone And Violet Mingled Among The Shale, And Purple Wings Of Little Winter-butterflies Say, Here Psyche, The Soul, Lies.

No One Knows The Colour Of A Flower Till It Is Broken.

Alas, Day, You Brought Light, You Trailed Splendour You Showed Us God: I Salute You, Most Precious One, But I Go To A New Place, Another Life.