The Only People I Really Hate Are

A Person Who Publishes A Book Appears Willfully In Public Eye With His Pants Down.

I Only Know That Summer Sang In Me A Little While, That In Me Sings No More.

When You Are Corn And Roses And At Rest I Shall Endure, A Dense And Sanguine Ghost To Haunt The Scene Where I Was Happiest To Bend Above The Thing I Loved The Most

And Reaching Up My Hand To Try, I Screamed To Feel It Touch The Sky.

Please Give Me Some Good Advice In Your Next Letter. I Promise Not To Follow It.