Wear Your Boots If You Wander Today

I Remember That I Stood On The Library Steps Holding My Books And Looking For A Minute At The Soft Hinted Green In The Branches Against The Sky And Wishing, As I Always Did, That I Could Walk Home Across The Sky Instead Of Through The Village.

I Really Think I Shall Commence Chapter Forty-four," He Said, Patting His Hands Together. "i Shall Commence, I Think, With A Slight Exaggeration And Go On From There Into An Outright Lie. Constance, My Dear?" "yes, Uncle Julian?" "i Am Going To Say That My Wife Was A Beautiful Woman.

I Was Pretending That I Did Not Speak Their Language; On The Moon We Spoke A Soft, Liquid Tongue, And Sang In The Starlight, Looking Down On The Dead Dried World.

A Pretty Sight, A Lady With A Book.

Dad And I Did Not Care At All For Your Story In The New Yorker … [i]t Does Seem, Dear, That This Gloomy Kind Of Story Is What All You Young People Think About These Days. Why Don't You Write Something To Cheer People Up?