The World Is Mud-luscious And Puddle-wonderful.

Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand

Treat A Man Like Dirt-he Produces Flowers.

Take The Matter Of Being Born. What Does Being Born Mean To Most People?

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera.)

You Have Played, (i Think) And Broke The Toys You Were Fondest Of, And Are A Little Tired Now; Tired Of Things That Break, And— Just Tired. So Am I.