Word I Was In My Life Alone,

Poetry Is A Reaching Out Forward Expression, An Effort To Find Fulfillment

But I May Be One Who Does Not Care Ever To Have Tree Bloom Or Bear.

You, Of Course, Are A Rose-- But Were Always A Rose.

Far In The Pillared Dark Thrush Music Went- Almost Like A Call To Come In To The Dark And Lament. But No, I Was Out For Stars: I Would Not Come In. I Meant Not Even If Asked, And I Hadn't Been.

Ants Are A Curious Race