Write Me Of Hope And Love, And

Dreams Are The Subtle Dower That Make Us Rich An Hour Then Fling Us Poor Out Of The Purple Door.

My Friends Are My Estate. Forgive Me Then The Avarice To Hoard Them!

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead I Doubt If Even That From Such A Giant Were Withheld Were Flesh Equivalent But Love Is Tired And Must Sleep, And Hungry And Must Graze And So Abets The Shining Fleet Till It Is Out Of Gaze.

Love Is Everything. And That's All We Know About It.

In The Name Of The Bee And Of The Butterfly And Of The Breeze, Amen!