Twin-sister Of Religion, Selfishness.

The Young Moon Has Fed Her Exhausted Horn With The Sunset's Fire.

When The Lamp Is Shattered The Light In The Dust Lies Dead - When The Cloud Is Scattered The Rainbow's Glory Is Shed.

Man's Yesterday May Never Be Like His Morrow; Nought May Endure But Mutability.

O, Wind, If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?

Just A Tender Sense Of My Own Process, That Holds Something Of My Connection With The Divine.