Blow Out, You Bugles, Over The Rich

I Have Need To Busy My Heart With Quietude.

And In That Heaven Of All Their Wish, There Shall Be No More Land, Say Fish

Cities, Like Cats, Will Reveal Themselves At Night.

Ponder Deep Wisdom, Dark Or Clear, Each Secret Fishy Hope Or Fear. Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond? This Life Cannot Be All, They Swear, For How Unpleasant, If It Were! One May Not Doubt That, Somehow, Good Shall Come Of Water And Of Mud; And, Sure, The Reverent Eye Must See A Purpose In Liquidity.

Youth Is Stranger Than Fiction.