I Think Best With A Pencil In

After All, I Don't See Why I Am Always Asking For Private, Individual, Selfish Miracles When Every Year There Are Miracles Like White Dogwood.

Eternally, Woman Spills Herself Away In Driblets To The Thirsty, Seldom Being Allowed The Time, The Quiet, The Peace, To Let The Pitcher Fill Up To The Brim.

But I Want First Of All- In Fact, As An End To These Other Desires- To Be At Peace With Myself.

One Must Lose One's Life To Find It.

Can One Make The Future A Substitute For The Present? And What Guarantee Have We That The Future Will Be Any Better If We Neglect The Present?