This House Sheltered Us, We Spoke, We

Dead Men Tell No Tales, Mary.

... And Through It All And Afterwards They Would Be Together, Making Their Own World Where Nothing Mattered But The Things They Could Give To One Another, The Loveliness, The Silence, And The Peace.

I Am Glad It Cannot Happen Twice, The Fever Of First Love. For It Is A Fever, And A Burden, Too, Whatever The Poets May Say.

Living As We Do In An Age Of Noise And Bluster, Success Is Now Measured Accordingly. We Must All Be Seen, And Heard, And On The Air.

[referring To The Birds:] Nat Listened To The Tearing Sound Of Splintering Wood, And Wondered How Many Million Years Of Memory Were Stored In Those Little Brains, Behind The Stabbing Beaks, The Piercing Eyes, Now Giving Them This Instinct To Destroy Mankind With All The Deft Precision Of Machines.