Writing. Love Is Writing.

No One Knows, The Heart Of A Child, How It Grows Until It Is Too Late.

The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

Escape From The Power Of The Hunting Pack, And To Know That Wisdom Is Best And Beauty Sheer Holiness.

O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined Fate Leads To The Holy Rite Of Hill And Mountain Worship.

A Slight Wind Shakes The Seed-pods My Thoughts Are Spent As The Black Seeds.