What An Exciting Age It Is We

Many Lovers Have Been Divorced By Having What Is Free Enforced.

A Bird Half Wakened In The Lunar Noon Sang Halfway Through Its Little Inborn Tune.

The Only Way Around Is Through.

(soft Petals, Yes, But Not So Barren Quite, Mingled With These, Smooth Bean And Wrinkled Pea;) And Go Along With You Ere You Lose Sight Of What You Came For And Become Like Me, Slave To A Springtime Passion For The Earth. How Love Burns Through The Putting In The Seed On Through The Watching For That Early Birth When, Just As The Soil Tarnishes With Weed, The Sturdy Seedling With Arched Body Comes Shouldering Its Way And Shedding The Earth Crumbs.

I Could Define Poetry This Way: It Is That Which Is Lost Out Of Both Prose And Verse In Translation.