The Hurt Is Not Enough: I Long

The Trees That Have It In Their Pent-up Buds To Darken Nature And Be Summer Woods.

I Only Hope That When I Am Free, As They Are Free To Go In Quest, Of The Knowledge Beyond The Bounds Of Life, It May Not Seem Better To Me To Rest.

Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

A Mother Takes Twenty Years To Make A Man Of Her Boy, And Another Woman Makes A Fool Of Him In Twenty Minutes.

He Says The Best Way Out Is Always Through. / And I Can Agree To That, Or In So Far / As That I Can See No Way Out But Through