It Takes Three To Make A Child.

And The Reason That I Laugh And Breathe Is Oh Love

My Sweet Old Etcetera Aunt Lucy During The Recent War Could And What Is More Did Tell You Just What Everybody Was Fighting For, My Sister Isabel Created Hundreds (and Hundreds) Of Socks Not To Mention Shirts Fleaproof Earwarmers Etcetera Wristers Etcetera, My Mother Hoped That I Would Die Etcetera Bravely Of Course My Father Used To Become Hoarse Talking About How It Was A Privilege And If Only He Could Meanwhile My Self Etcetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera)

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

Nothing Which We Are To Perceive In This World Equals The Power Of Your Intense Fragility:whose Texture Compels Me With The Colour Of Its Countries, Rendering Death And Forever With Each Breathing (i Do Not Know What It Is About You That Closes And Opens;only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses) Nobody,not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands -excerpt Of #35 From "100 Selected Poems

Since Feelings Come First, Who Cares About The Syntax Of Things?