So When At Times The Mob Is

End Is A Gloomy Word.

I Write To Find Out What I Didn't Know I Knew.

And Were An Epitaph To Be My Story I'd Have A Short One Ready For My Own. I Would Have Written Of Me On My Stone: I Had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

A True Sonnet Goes Eight Lines And Then Takes A Turn For Better Or Worse And Goes Six Or Eight Lines More.

Talking Is A Hydrant In The Yard And Writing Is A Faucet Upstairs In The House. Opening The First Takes The Pressure Off The Second.