There Is No Road, The Road Is

I Thought My Fire Was Out, And Stirred The Ashes…. I Burnt My Fingers.

Pathmaker, There Is No Path; You Make The Path By Walking, By Walking You Make The Path

Death Is Something We Shouldn't Fear Because, While We Are, Death Isn't, And When Death Is, We Aren't.

It Is Good Knowing That Glasses Are To Drink From; The Bad Thing Is Not To Know What Thirst Is For.

The Afternoon Is Bright, With Spring In The Air, A Mild March Afternoon, With The Breath Of April Stirring, I Am Alone In The Quiet Patio Looking For Some Old Untried Illusion - Some Shadow On The Whiteness Of The Wall Some Memory Asleep On The Stone Rim Of The Fountain, Perhaps In The Air The Light Swish Of Some Trailing Gown.