What If They Gave A War And

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write.

Poetry Is A Search For Syllables To Shoot At The Barriers Of The Unknown And The Unknowable.

I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No Beautiful Thing Lasts.

Poetry Is A Fresh Morning Spider-web Telling A Story Of Moonlit Hours Of Weaving And Waiting During A Night.

Who Else Speaks For The Family Of Man? They Are In Tune And Step With Constellations Of Universal Law.