Sure, I Rose The Wrong Way Today,

All I Ask, Is The Privilege For My Masculine Part The Poet In Me.... If I Must Not, Because Of My Sex, Have This Freedom... I Lay Down My Quill And You Shall Hear No More Of Me.

Here Lies A Proof That Wit Can Never Be Defence Enough Against Mortality

Love Ceases To Be A Pleasure, When It Ceases To Be A Secret.

You May Make Love In Dancing As Well As Sitting.

Come Away; Poverty's Catching.