Two Kinds Of Gratitude: The Sudden Kind

The Stillness Of October Gold Went Out Like Beauty From A Face.

For When A Woman Is Left Too Much Alone, Sooner Or Later She Begins To Think; And No Man Knows What Then She May Discover.

Pity Is Like A Knife, Sometimes, And It May Pierce One Who Employs It More Shrewdly Than The Victim It Would Save.

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel

Do You Hear The Children Singing?