Youth Condemns; Maturity Condones

I Never Deny Poems When They Come; Whatever I Am Doing, Whatever I Am Writing, I Lay It Aside And Attend To The Arriving Poem.

Guarded Within The Old Red Wall's Embrace, Marshalled Like Soldiers In Gay Company, The Tulips Stand Arrayed. Here Infantry Wheels Out Into The Sunlight.

Happiness, To Some, Is Elation; To Others It Is Mere Stagnation.

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.

Can You See Through The Night, Woman, That You Stare So Upon It? Man, What Sparks Do Your Eyes Follow In The Smouldering Darkness?