Writing. Love Is Writing.

We Don't Have To Know,only To Be:let Go The Jumble Of Worn Words,reason And Vanity.

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

For This Beauty, Beauty Without Strength, Chokes Out Life.

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.