A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And

Humor Is The Most Engaging Cowardice.

Now Close The Windows And Hush All The Fields: If The Trees Must, Let Them Silently Toss.

The Only Way Out Is To Go Through

The People I Am Most Afraid Of Are Those Who Are The Most Afraid.

I'd Like To Go By Climbing A Birch Tree~ And Climb Black Branches Up A Snow-white Trunk Toward Heaven, Till The Tree Could Bear No More, But Dipped Its Top And Set Me Down Again. That Would Be Good Both Going And Coming Back. One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.