Anytime The Perfume Of Orange And Lemon

Poems Give You The Lives Of Others And Then Circle In On Your Own Inner World.

Where Is It Written That Houses Must Be Beige? Any Dun Colored House Would Look Better If Painted Pineapple, Cream, Ochre, Or Even A Smart Sage.

Sometimes The Valley Below Is Like A Bowl Filled Up With Fog. I Can See Hard Green Figs On Two Trees And Pears On A Tree Just Below Me. A Fine Crop Coming In. May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

Like Fanning Through A Deck Of Cards, My Mind Flashes On The Thousand Chances, Trivial To Profound, That Converged To Re-create This Place. Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different. Where Did The Expression "a Place In The Sun" First Come From? My Rational Thought Process Cling Always To The Idea Of Free Will, Random Event; My Blood, However, Streams Easily Along A Current Of Fate.

It’s Daunting To Find The Language So Foreign, So Distant, But Also So Thrilling. One Is Absolved Of Responsibility When The Language Is Incomprehensible.