Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest

Such A Blush In The Midst Of Brown Was Born, Like Red Poppies Grown With Corn.

Jasmine Is Sweet, And Has Many Loves.

Apothegms Form A Short Cut To Much Knowledge.

I Remember, I Remember, The House Where I Was Born, The Little Window Where The Sun Came Peeping In At Morn.

My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop Hinders Needle And Thread.