Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

Sometimes A Musical Phrase Would Perfectly Sum Up The Mood Of A Moment. One Of Those Lovelorn Sonatas For Wind Instruments Was Riding Past On A Solemn White Horse. Everybody Wondered Who The New Arrival Was.

The Sun Fades Like The Spreading Of A Peacock's Tail, As Though Twilight Might Be Read As A Warning To Those Desperate For Easy Solutions.

The Summer Demands And Takes Away Too Much. /but Night, The Reserved, The Reticent, Gives More Than It Takes

There Is The View That Poetry Should Improve Your Life. I Think People Confuse It With The Salvation Army.

Its A Bit Mad. Too Bad, I Mean, That Getting To Know Each Just For A Fleeting Second Must Be Replaced By Unperfect Knowledge Of The Featureless Whole Like Some Pocket History Of The World, So General As To Constitute A Sob Or Wail