And You Know, I Agree

Poems Are My Link With The Times, With The New Life Of My People.

Mary Magdalene Beat Her Breasts And Sobbed, His Dear Disciple, Stone-faced, Stared. His Mother Stood Apart. No Other Looked Into Her Secret Eyes. Nobody Dared.

If You Were Music I Would Listen To You Ceaselessly And My Low Spirits Would Brighten Up.

Who Will Grieve For This Woman? Does She Not Seem Too Insignificant For Our Concern? Yet In My Heart I Never Will Deny Her, Who Suffered Death Because She Chose To Turn.

All That I Am Hangs By A Thread Tonight