Give Me A Thrill, Says The Reader,

Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come Round.

What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.

You Can't Put Off Being Young Until You Retire.

I Am Awakened Each Dawn Increasingly To Fear.

Only One Ship Is Seeking Us, A Black-sailed Unfamiliar, Towing At Her Backa Huge And Birdless Silence. In Her Wakeno Waters Breed Or Break.