Writing. Love Is Writing.

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

I Could Not Accept From Wisdom What Love Taught, Woman Is Perfect.

The Whole White World Is Ours.

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.

Let Love Step Down, Open The Clasped Hands, Forfeit The Thorny Crown, Retrieve The Garment That Was Whole, Body And Spirit One, Spirit And Soul.