This Is My Letter To The World

The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands / To Gather Paradise-.

These Are The Days When Birds Come Back, A Very Few, A Bird Or Two, To Take A Backward Look.

We Both Believe, And Disbelieve A Hundred Times An Hour, Which Keeps Believing Nimble.

Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

How Strange That Nature Does Not Knock, And Yet Does Not Intrude!