We Might Realize That The Present Moment

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

So I Cradle This Average Violin That Knows Only Forgotten Showtunes, But Argues The Possibility Of Free Declamation Anchored To A Dull Refrain.

Expecting Rain, The Profile Of A Day Wears Its Soul Like A Hat.

What I Like About Music Is Its Ability To Be Convincing, To Carry An Argument Through Successfully To The Finish, Though The Terms Of The Argument Remain Unknown Quantities.

One Can Lose A Good Idea By Not Writing It Down, Yet By Losing It One Can Have It: It Nourishes Other Asides It Knows Nothing Of, Would Not Recognize Itself In, Yet When The Negotiations Are Terminated, Speaks In The Acts Of That Progenitor, And Does Recognize Itself, Is Grateful For Not Having Done So Earlier.