Why Does My Muse Only Speak When

See The Cat At Love, Rolling With Its Sweetheart, Up And Over, With Shriek And Moan. But If A Person Comes By, They Break Away, Sit Separate Upon A Fence Washing Their Faces - And Might Never Have Met At All.

I Love People, But I Love The Thought And Memory Of Them Just As Much.

Cry Pretty, Pretty, Pretty And You'll Be Able Very Soon Not Even To Cry Pretty And So Be Delivered Entirely From Humanity This Is Prettiest Of All, It Is Very Pretty.

My Muse Sits Forlorn She Wishes She Had Not Been Born She Sits In The Cold No Word She Says Is Ever Told.

One Never Knows Really How Things Are With Other People, They Just Do Always Seem More Spirited Than Oneself Somehow.