Time Cannot Children,poets,lovers Tell- Measure Imagine,mystery,a Kiss

That Which We Die For Lives As Wholly As That Which We Live For Dies.

-before Leaving My Room I Turn, And (stooping Through The Morning) Kiss This Pillow, Dear Where Our Heads Lived And Were.

We Do Not Believe In Ourselves Until Someone Reveals That Deep Inside Us Something Is Valuable, Worth Listening To, Worthy Of Our Trust, Sacred To Our Touch. Once We Believe In Ourselves We Can Risk Curiosity, Wonder, Spontaneous Delight Or Any Experience That Reveals The Human Spirit.

In A Middle Of A Room Stands A Suicide Sniffing A Paper Rose Smiling To A Self "somewhere It Is Spring And Sometimes People Are In Real:imagine Somewhere Real Flowers,but I Can't Imagine Real Flowers For If I Could,they Would Somehow Not Be Real" (so He Smiles Smiling)"but I Will Not Everywhere Be Real To You In A Moment" The Is Blond With Small Hands "& Everything Is Easier Than I Had Guessed Everything Would Be;even Remembering The Way Who Looked At Whom First,anyhow Dancing

The Only Man, Woman, Or Child Who Wrote A Simple Declarative Sentence With Seven Grammatical Errors "is Dead."