Money And Art Are Far Apart.

I Loved My Friend He Went Away From Me There's Nothing More To Say The Poem Ends, Soft As It Began- I Loved My Friend.

I Got The Weary Blues And I Can't Be Satisfied.

Gather Up In The Arms Of Your Love—those Who Expect No Love From Above.

Life Is For The Living. Death Is For The Dead. Let Life Be Like Music. And Death A Note Unsaid.

To Create A Market For Your Writing You Have To Be Consistent, Professional, A Continuing Writer - Not Just A One-article Or A One-story Or A One-book Man.