Year By Year, The Monkey's Mask Reveals

Winter Solitude- In A World Of One Colour The Sound Of The Wind.

Now The Swinging Bridge Is Quieted With Creepers ... Like Our Tendrilled Life.

Operating Superficially, The Mind Is Random In Its Activity And Stale In Its Insights And Images. However, With Practice And Experience The Mind Is Freed From The Skull, And The Fresh And New Can Appear As Though For The First Time. It

In This Poor Body, Composed Of One Hundred Bones And Nine Openings, Is Something Called Spirit, A Flimsy Curtain Swept This Way And That By The Slightest Breeze. It Is Spirit, Such As It Is, Which Led Me To Poetry, At First Little More Than A Pastime, Then The Full Business Of My Life. There Have Been Times When My Spirit, So Dejected, Almost Gave Up The Quest, Other Times When It Was Proud, Triumphant. So It Has Been From The Very Start, Never Finding Peace With Itself, Always Doubting The Worth Of What It Makes.

Just Washed, How Chill The White Leeks!