I Show You Doubt, To Prove That

Mid The Sharp, Short Emerald Wheat, Scarce Risen Three Fingers Well, The Wild Tulip At The End Of Its Tube, Blows Out Its Great Red Bell, Like A Thin Clear Bubble Of Blood, For The Children To Pick And Sell.

What's Come To Perfection Perishes. Things Learned On Earth We Shall Practice In Heaven; Works Done Least Rapidly Art Most Cherishes.

But Facts Are Facts And Flinch Not.

Motherhood: All Love Begins And Ends There.

Over My Head His Arm He Flung, Against The World.