A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not Make Up

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

Poetry Is Often Generations In Advance Of The Thought Of Its Time.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.

The Terrible Beast, That No One May Understand, Came To My Side, And Put Down His Head In Love.

I Hope That One Or Two Immortal Lyrics Will Come Out Of All This Tumbling Around.