Struggle To Sketch The Flow That Already

That's The Story Of My Life Rich Or Poor And Mostly Poor And Truly Poor.

Return Those Shoes To The Shoemaker Return This Hand To My Father This Pillow To The Pillowmaker Those Slippers To The Shop. That Wainscot To The Carpenter, But My Mind My Tranquil And Eternal Mind Return It To Whom?

Holy Flowers Floating In The Air, Were All These Tired Faces In The Dawn Of Jazz America.

I Was Surprised, As Always, Be How Easy The Act Of Leaving Was, And How Good It Felt. The World Was Suddenly Rich With Possibility.

Swinging On Delicate Hinges The Autumn Leaf Almost Off The Stem.