He Says The Best Way Out Is

I Dwell In A Lonely House I Know That Vanished Many A Summer Ago.

I Hope To Leave Behind A Few Poems It Will Be Hard To Get Rid Of.

Style Is That Which Indicates How The Writer Takes Himself And What He Is Saying. It Is The Mind Skating Circles Around Itself As It Moves Forward.

Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, And Wants It Down.

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.