A Witty Woman Is A Treasure; A

Earth, The Mother Of All, Moves On Her Stedfast Way, Gathering, Flinging, Sowing. Mortals, We Live In Her Day, She In Her Children Is Growing.

Behold The Life At Ease; It Drifts, The Sharpened Life Commands Its Course.

Full Lasting Is The Song, Though He, / The Singer, Passes.

Not Till The Fire Is Dying In The Grate, Look We For Any Kinship With The Stars. Oh, Wisdom Never Comes When It Is Gold, And The Great Price We Paid For It Full Worth: We Have It Only When We Are Half Earth. Little Avails That Coinage To The Old!

That Rarest Gift To Beauty, Common Sense!