The Test Is Always How We Treat

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Thy Leaves Have Ripened To The Fall; Tomorrow's Wind, If It Be Wild, Should Waste Them All. The Crows Above The Forest Call; Tomorrow They May Form And Go. O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow. Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief. Hearts Not Averse To Being Beguiled, Beguile Us In The Way You Know. Release One Leaf At Break Of Day; At Noon Release Another Leaf; One From Our Trees, One Far Away.

I'm Always Saying Something That's Just The Edge Of Something More.

Poets Like Shakespeare Know More About Poetry Than Any $25 An Hour Man.

A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And Then Takes A Turn For Better Or Worse And Goes Six Or Eight Lines More.

Style Is Less The Man Than The Way A Man Takes Himself.