Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The

All My Life, Following Care Along The Dusty Road, Have I Looked Back On Loveliness And Sighed.

I Only Know That Summer Sang In Me A Little While, That In Me Sings No More.

Heap Not On This Mound Roses That She Loved So Well; Why Bewilder Her With Roses That She Cannot See Or Smell.

Life In Itself / Is Nothing, / An Empty Cup, A Flight Of Uncarpeted Stairs. / It Is Not Enough That Yearly, Down This Hill, / April / Comes Like An Idiot, Babbling And Strewing Flowers.

It's Not Love's Going Hurts My Days But That It Went In Little Ways.