Thou Knowest, Winter Tames Man, Woman, And

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.

Nature Does Require Her Time Of Preservation, Which Perforce, I Her Frail Son Amongst My Brethren Mortal, Must Give My Attendance To.

Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.

If By Chance I Talk A Little Wild, Forgive Me; I Had It From My Father.