Will You Love Me In December As

Mind Is The Maker, For No Reason At All, For All This Creation, Created To Fall.

I Saw That My Life Was A Vast Glowing Empty Page And I Could Do Anything I Wanted.

When The Railroad Trains Moaned, And River-winds Blew, Bringing Echoes Through The Vale, It Was As If A Wild Hum Of Voices, The Dear Voices Of Everybody He Had Known, Were Crying: "peter, Peter! Where Are You Going, Peter?" And A Big Soft Gust Of Rain Came Down. He Put Up The Collar Of His Jacket, And Bowed His Head, And Hurried Along.

We Turned At A Dozen Paces, For Love Is A Duel, And Looked At Each Other For The Last Time.

The Best Teacher Is Experience And Not Through Someone's Distorted Point Of View