Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

Then Read From The Treasured Volume The Poem Of Thy Choice, And Lend To The Rhyme Of The Poet The Beauty Of Thy Voice.

Yes, We Must Ever Be Friends; And Of All Who Offer You Friendship Let Me Be Ever The First, The Truest, The Nearest And Dearest.

Whatever Poet, Orator, Or Sage May Say Of It, Old Age Is Still Old Age.

Nothing That Is Can Pause Or Stay.

Balder The Beautiful Is Dead, Is Dead!