The Artist In Me Cries Out For

Life Is Tons Of Discipline. Your First Discipline Is Your Vocabulary; Then Your Grammar And Your Punctuation Then, In Your Exuberance And Bounding Energy You Say You're Going To Add To That. Then You Add Rhyme And Meter. And Your Delight Is In That Power.

A Poem Begins With A Lump In The Throat

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.

There Are Few Sorrows, However Poignant, In Which A Good Income Is Of No Avail.

Nobody Was Ever Meant, To Remember Or Invent, What He Did With Every Cent.