I Won't Take My Religion From Any

Lips Half-willing In A Doorway. Lips Half-singing At A Window. Eyes Half-dreaming In The Walls. Feet Half-dancing In A Kitchen. Even The Clocks Half-yawn The Hours And The Farmers Make Half-answers.

An Ambition Is A Little Creeper That Creeps And Creeps In Your Heart Night And Day, Singing A Little Song, "come And Find Me, Come And Find Me."

Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

Come Clean With A Child Heart Laugh As Peaches In The Summer Wind Let Rain On A House Roof Be A Song Let The Writing On Your Face Be A Smell Of Apple Orchards On Late June.

Poetry Is A Kinetic Arrangement Of Static Syllables.