Here's A Sigh To Those Who Love

Of Religion I Know Nothing -- At Least, In Its Favor.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

Perhaps The Early Grave Which Men Weep Over May Be Meant To Save.

Frienship Is Eros...without Wings

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.