For Hard It Is To

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

If There Is One Thing In Life That I Have Learned About Life It Is... It Goes On.

Nature Is Always Hinting At Us. It Hints Over And Over Again. And Suddenly We Take The Hint.

If The Writer Does Not Cry, The Reader Does Not Cry.

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting. . . . Read It A Hundred Times; It Will Forever Keep Its Freshness As A Metal Keeps Its Fragrance. It Can Never Lose Its Sense Of A Meaning That Once Unfolded By Surprise As It Went.