My Puns Are Not Trivial. They Are

Winds Of May, That Dance On The Sea, Dancing A Ring-around In Glee From Furrow To Furrow, While Overhead The Foam Flies Up To Be Garlanded, In Silvery Arches Spanning The Air, Saw You My True Love Anywhere? Welladay! Welladay! For The Winds Of May! Love Is Unhappy When Love Is Away!

Ulysses He ... Saw The Dark Tangled Curls Of His Bush Floating, Floating Hair Of The Stream Around The Limp Father Of Thousands, A Languid Flatong Flower.

All Human History Moves Towards One Great Goal

Away! Away! The Spell Of Arms And Voices: The White Arms Of Roads, Their Promise Of Close Embraces And The Black Arms Of Tall Ships That Stand Against The Moon, Their Tale Of Distant Nations. They Are Held Out To Say: We Are Alone. Come. And The Voices Say With Them: We Are Your Kinsmen. And The Air Is Thick With Their Company As They Call To Me, Their Kinsman, Making Ready To Go, Shaking The Wings Of Their Exultant And Terrible Youth... Welcome, O Life! I Go To Encounter For The Millionth Time The Reality Of Experience And To Forge In The Smithy Of My Soul The Uncreated Conscience Of My Race.

Civilization May Be Said Indeed To Be The Creation Of Its Outlaws.