Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against

Earth's The Right Place For Love. I Don't Know Where It's Likely To Go Better.

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose.

Home Is The Place Where, When You Have To Go There, They Have To Take You In.

Two Such As You With Such A Master Speed, Cannot Be Parted Nor Be Swept Away, From One Another Once You Are Agreed, That Life Is Only Life Forevermore, Together Wing To Wing And Oar To Oar.

People Who Read Me Seem To Be Divided Into Four Groups: Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Right Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Like Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Wrong Reasons; Twenty-five Percent Hate Me For The Right Reasons. It's That Last Twenty-five Percent That Worries Me.