I Suppose Real Old Age Begins When

Though Friendship Is Not Quick To Burn It Is Explosive Stuff.

Everything That Slows Us Down And Forces Patience, Everything That Sets Us Back Into The Slow Circles Of Nature, Is A Help. Gardening Is An Instrument Of Grace.

I Suppose I Have Written Novels To Find Out What I Thought About Something And Poems To Find Out What I Felt About Something.

Try Making A Poem As If It Were A Table, Clear And Solid, Standing There Outside You.

Whatever Peace I Know Rests In The Natural World, In Feeling Myself A Part Of It, Even In A Small Way.