Assent - And You Are Sane -

As Summer Into Autumn Slips And Yet We Sooner Say "the Summer" Than "the Autumn," Lest We Turn The Sun Away, And Almost Count It An Affront The Presence To Concede Of One However Lovely, Not The One That We Have Loved - So We Evade The Charge Of Years On One Attempting Shy The Circumvention Of The Shaft Of Life's Declivity.

Truth - Is As Old As God-.

I Wonder If It Hurts To Live, And If They Have To Try, And Whether, Could They Choose Between, They Would Not Rather Die.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

Lest I Should Be Old-fashioned, I'll Put A Trinket On.