Hope Is An Echo, Hope Ties Itself

Poetry Is A Section Of River-fog And Moving Boat-lights, Delivered Between Bridges And Whistles, So One Says, 'oh!' And Another, 'how?'

The People Will Live On.the Learning And Blundering People Will Live On.

Poetry Is The Journal Of A Sea Animal Living On Land, Wanting To Fly In The Air.

Our Lives Are Like A Candle In The Wind.

I Tell You The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes, So Live Not In Your Yesterdays, No Just For Tomorrow, But In The Here And Now. Keep Moving And Forget The Post Mortems; And Remember, No One Can Get The Jump On The Future.