The Moon For All Her Light And

Out Alone In The Winter Rain, / Intent On Giving And Taking Pain.

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

We're Either Nothing Or A God's Regret.

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun. It Is This Backward Motion Toward The Source, Against The Stream, That Most We See Ourselves In, The Tribute Of The Current To The Source. It Is From This In Nature We Are From. It Is Most Us.

Not To Sink Under Being Man And Wife, But Get Some Color And Music Out Of Life?