A Baby Is God's Opinion That Life

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

What Else Have I Done Nearly All My Life Than Go Hungry And Go On Singing?

I Been A Wanderin' Early And Late, New York City To The Golden Gate An' It Looks Like I'm Never Gonna Cease My Wanderin'.

Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A Big Empty Box Fill It Full.

Lips Half-willing In A Doorway. Lips Half-singing At A Window. Eyes Half-dreaming In The Walls. Feet Half-dancing In A Kitchen. Even The Clocks Half-yawn The Hours And The Farmers Make Half-answers.