There Is Only One Child In The

Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How Rainbows Are Made And Why They Go Away.

Beware Of Advice-even This.

And All Poets Love Dust And Mist Because All The Last Answers. Go Running Back To Dust And Mist.

I Tell You The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes, So Live Not In Your Yesterdays, No Just For Tomorrow, But In The Here And Now. Keep Moving And Forget The Post Mortems; And Remember, No One Can Get The Jump On The Future.

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn, To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write. At Sixty-five I Began My First Novel And After The Five Years, Lacking A Month, I Took To Finish It, I Was Still Traveling, Still A Seeker.