The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.

It Can Be Said Of Him, When He Departed He Took A Man's Life With Him. No Sounder Piece Of British Manhood Was Put Together In That Eighteenth Century Of Time.

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

Load Every Rift With Ore.

A Poem Needs Understanding Through The Senses. The Point Of Diving In A Lake Is Not Immediately To Swim To The Shore; It’s To Be In The Lake, To Luxuriate In The Sensation Of Water. You Do Not Work The Lake Out. It Is An Experience Beyond Thought. Poetry Soothes And Emboldens The Soul To Accept Mystery.

Some Say The World Is A Vale Of Tears, I Say It Is A Place Of Soul-making.