When You Walk On The Face Of

What A Waste Of Time To Be Posthumously Famous.

Someone's Sent A Loving Note In Lines Of Returning Geese And As The Moon Fills My Western Chamber As Petals Dance Over The Flowing Stream Again I Think Of You The Two Of Us Living A Sadness Apart A Hurt That Can't Be Removed Yet When My Gaze Comes Down My Heart Stays Up

He Is Dead, She Thought Bitterly, Because We Have Forgotten Him.

I Don't Believe That There Are Aliens. I Believe There Are Really Different People.

Before We Are Citizens, We Are Children, And It Is As Children That We Come To Understand Freedom And Authority, Liberty And Duty.