A Wounded Deer Leaps The Highest.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

The Things That Never Can Come Back, Are Several - Childhood - Some Forms Of Hope - The Dead.

Hold Dear To Your Parents For It Is A Scary And Confusing World Without Them.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

After A Hundred Years Nobody Knows The Place, Agony, That Enacted There, Motionless As Peace.