We Love The Things We Love For

Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against The Confusion Of The World.

What An Exciting Age It Is We Live In With All This Talk About The Hope Of Youth And Nothing Made Of Youth.

Courage Is Of The Heart By Derivation, And Great It Is. But Fear Is Of The Soul.

Than Smoke And Mist Who Better Could Appraise The Kindred Spirit Of An Inner Haze?

I'd Like To Go By Climbing A Birch Tree~ And Climb Black Branches Up A Snow-white Trunk Toward Heaven, Till The Tree Could Bear No More, But Dipped Its Top And Set Me Down Again. That Would Be Good Both Going And Coming Back. One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.