A Creative Writer Can Do His Best

I Suppose There Were Moonless Nights And Dark Ones With But A Silver Shaving And Pale Stars In The Sky, But I Remember Them All As Flooded With The Rich Indolence Of A Full Moon.

Money Is A Protection, A Cloak; It Can Buy One Quiet, And Some Sort Of Dignity.

We Come And Go, But The Land Is Always Here. And The People Who Love It And Understand It Are The People Who Own It - For A Little While.

Whatever Is Felt Upon The Page Without Being Specifically Named There — That, One Might Say, Is Created.

The Two Friends Stood For A Few Moments On The Windy Street Corner, Not Speaking A Word, As Two Travelers, Who Have Lost Their Way, Sometimes Stand And Admit Their Perplexity In Silence. (o Pioneers!)