Give Me Your Hand Out Of The

He Who Does Not Travel, Who Does Not Read, Who Does Not Listen To Music, Who Does Not Find Grace In Himself, She Who Does Not Find Grace In Herself, Dies Slowly.

Love Is Brief: Forgetting Lasts So Long.

What Did The Earth Teach The Trees? How To Speak To The Sky.

But When I Call For A Hero, Out Comes My Lazy Old Self; So I Never Know Who I Am, Nor How Many I Am Or Will Be. I'd Love To Be Able To Touch A Bell And Summon The Real Me, Because If I Really Need Myself, I Mustn't Disappear.

I Don't Want To Go On Being A Root In The Dark, Vacillating, Stretched Out, Shivering With Sleep, Downward, In The Soaked Guts Of The Earth, Absorbing And Thinking, Eating Each Day.