Unable Are The Loved To Die For

A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.

I'll Tell You How The Sun Rose, A Ribbon At A Time. The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Ran. The Hills Untied Their Bonnets, The Bobolinks Begun. Then I Said Softly To Myself, "that Must Have Been The Sun!

God's Little Blond Blessing We Have Long Deemed You, And Hope His So-called Will Will Not Compel Him To Revoke You.

What Fortitude The Soul Contains, That It Can So Endure The Accent Of A Coming Foot- The Opening Of A Door.

Noon - Is The Hinge Of Day-.