If We Really Want To Live, We'd

Poetry Makes Nothing Happen.

Time And Fevers Burn Away Individual Beauty From Thoughtful Children, And The Grave Proves The Child Ephemeral

What Answer To The Meaning Of Existence Should One Require Beyond The Right To Exercise One's Gifts?

The Stars Are Dead. The Animals Will Not Look: We Are Left Alone With Our Day, And The Time Is Short, And History To The Defeated May Say Alas But Cannot Help Nor Pardon.

Yet No One Hears His Own Remarks As Prose.