He Knew Only That His

At One Time In The World There Were Woods That No One Owned

There Is No Such Joy In The Tavern As Upon The Road Thereto.

Scars Have The Strange Power To Remind Us That Our Past Is Real.

Acts Have Their Being In The Witness. Without Him Who Can Speak Of It? In The End One Could Even Say That The Act Is Nothing, The Witness All.

The Cooler Days Have Brought A Wistful Mood Upon Him. The Smell Of Coalsmoke In The Air At Night. Old Times, Dead Years. For Him Such Memories Are Bitter Ones.