A Poem Does Not Grow By Jerks.

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.

I Dreamed Kind Jesus Fouled The Big-gun Gears; And Caused A Permanent Stoppage In All Bolts; And Buckled With A Smile Mausers And Colts; And Rusted Every Bayonet With His Tears.

I, Too, Saw God Through Mud - The Mud That Cracked On Cheeks When Wretches Smiled. War Brought More Glory To Their Eyes Than Blood, And Gave Their Laughs More Glee Than Shakes A Child.

Do You Know What Would Hold Me Together On A Battlefield? The Sense That I Was Perpetuating The Language In Which Keats And The Rest Of Them Wrote!

When I Begin To Eliminate From The List All Those Professions Which Are Impossible From A Financial Point Of View And Then Those Which I Feel Disinclined To-it Leaves Nothing