Seizing The Swift Logic Of A Woman,

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?

Youth Sees Too Far To See How Near It Is To Seeing Farther.

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.

Do You Hear The Children Singing?

I Mean You Last As Long As Lies.