Time Is My Estate: To Time I'm

Great Thoughts And A Pure Heart, That Is What We Should Ask From God.

Sin Writes Histories, Goodness Is Silent.

The Bed Of Flowers Loosens Amain, The Beauteous Snowdrops Droop O'er The Plain. The Crocus Opens Its Glowing Bud, Like Emeralds Others, Others, Like Blood. With Saucy Gesture Primroses Flare, And Roguish Violets, Hidden With Care; And Whatsoever There Stirs And Strives, The Spring's Contented, If Works And Thrives.

In Art It's Not The Thinking That Does The Job, But Making.

Time Flies, And What Is Past Is Done.