Now All My Teachers Are Dead Except

We Travel Far And Fast And As We Pass Through We Forget Where We Have Been

Any Work Of Art Makes One Very Simple Demand On Anyone Who Genuinely Wants To Get In Touch With It. And That Is To Stop. You've Got To Stop What You're Doing, What You're Thinking, And What You're Expecting And Just Be There For The Poem For However Long It Takes.

This Is What I Have Heard At Last The Wind In December Lashing The Old Trees With Rain Unseen Rain Racing Along The Tiles Under The Moon Wind Rising And Falling Wind With Many Clouds Trees In The Night Wind.

Laughter Was The Shape The Darkness Took Around The First Appearance Of The Light.

Send Me Out Into Another Life Lord Because This One Is Growing Faint I Do Not Think It Goes All The Way