The Jungle Speaks To Me Because I

Being Kissed By A Man Who Didn't Wax His Moustache Was-like Eating An Egg Without Salt.

There Rise Her Timeless Capitals Of Empires Daily Born, Whose Plinths Are Laid At Midnight And Whose Streets Are Packed At Morn; And Here Come Tired Youths And Maids That Feign To Love Or Sin In Tones Like Rusty Razor Blades To Tunes Like Smitten Tin.

God Help Us For We Knew The Worst Too Young.

The Wild Hawk To The Wind-swept Sky The Deer To The Wholesome Wold; And The Heart Of A Man To The Heart Of A Maid, As It Was In The Days Of Old.

God Could Not Be Everywhere, And Therefore He Made Mothers.