A Poem Begins With A Lump In

Poets Like Shakespeare Know More About Poetry Than Any $25 An Hour Man.

Oh, Give Us Pleasure In The Orch-ard White, Like Nothing Else By Day, Like Ghosts By Night.

I End Not Far From My Going Forth By Picking The Faded Blue Of The Last Remaining Aster Flower To Carry Again To You.

Only Where Love And Need Are One, And The Work Is Play For Mortal Stakes Is The Deed Ever Truly Done For Heaven And The Future's Sakes

For Hard It Is To Keep From Being King When It's In You And In The Situation.