Let The Gentle Bush Dig Its Root

To Never See A Fool You Lock Yourself In Your Room And Smash The Looking-glass.

Poetry Is A Sky Dark With A Wild-duck Migration.

Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A Sea Creature Who Lives On Land And Wishes He Could Fly.

The Peace Of Great Books Be For You, Stains Of Pressed Clover Leaves On Pages, Bleach Of The Light Of Years Held In Leather.

Poetry Is A Series Of Explanations Of Life, Fading Off Into Horizons Too Swift For Explanations.