If The Writer Does Not Cry, The

Summary Riposte To The Dreary Wail There's No Knowing What Love Is All About. Poets Know A Lot.

Have I Not Walked Without An Upward Look Of Caution Under Stars That Very Well Might Not Have Missed Me When They Shot And Fell? It Was A Risk I Had To Take-and Took.

Our Lives Laid Down In War And Peace May Not Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight. And That They May Be Is The Only Prayer Worth Praying. May My Sacrifice Be Found Acceptable In Heaven's Sight.

Both T.s. Eliot And I Like To Play, But I Like To Play Euchre, While He Likes To Play Eucharist.

He Thought That I Was After Him For A Feather--- The White One In His Tail: Like One Who Takes Everything Said As Personal To Himself.