All Sensible Men Are Of

There Are Gems Of Wondrous Brightness Ofttimes Lying At Our Feet, And We Pass Them, Walking Thoughtless, Down The Busy, Crowded Street. If We Knew, Our Pace Would Slacken, We Would Step More Oft With Care, Lest Our Careless Feet Be Treading To The Earth Some Jewel Rare.

Shere Khan, The Big One, Has Shifted His Hunting Grounds. He Will Hunt Among These Hills For The Next Moon, So He Has Told Me.

Ah! What Avails The Classic Bent And What The Cultured Word, Against The Undoctored Incident That Actually Occurred? And What Is Art Whereto We Press Through Paint And Prose And Rhyme- When Nature In Her Nakedness Defeats Us Every Time?

I Have No Gift Of Words, But I Speak The Truth.

It's Clever, But Is It Art?