To What Purpose, April, Do You Return

There Is No God. But It Does Not Matter. Man Is Enough.

The Englishman Foxtrots As He Fox-hunts, With All His Being, Through Thickets, Through Ditches, Over Hedges, Through Chiffons, Through Waiters, Over Saxophones, To The Victorious Finish; And Who Goes Home Depends On How Many The Ambulance Will Accommodate.

Under My Head Till Morning; But The Rain, Is Full Of Ghosts Tonight, That Tap And Sigh, Upon The Glass And Listen For Reply.

The Younger Generation Forms A Country Of Its Own. It Has No Geographical Boundaries. I've Talked With Young Hungarians In Budapest, With Young Italians In Rome, With Young Frenchmen In Paris, And With Young People All Over. ... These Young People Are Going To Do Things. They Are Going To Change Things.

You Are Loved. If So, What Else Matters?