If Youth Is A Defect, It Is

Middle Age At Forty-five, What Next, What Next? At Every Corner, I Meet My Father, My Age, Still Alive.

Once Fishing Was A Rabbit's Foot-- O Wind Blow Cold, O Wind Blow Hot

What Can The Dove Of Jesus Give You Now But Wisdom, Exile? Stand And Live, The Dove Has Brought An Olive Branch To Eat.

Wallowing In This Bloody Sty, I Cast For Fish That Pleased My Eye

And Blue-lung'd Combers Lumbered To The Kill.