Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

Grant Me, O Lord, A Sunny Mind-thy Windy Will To Bear!

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

I Dwell In Possibilities .

The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make Me Regret I Am Not A Bee.

You Can Stay Young As Long As You Learn.