I Have Forgotten Much, But

If A Man Is Not Faithful To His Own Individuality, He Cannot Be Loyal To Anything.

If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways, I Turned Aside And Bowed My Head And Wept.

Adventure-seasoned And Storm-buffeted, I Shun All Signs Of Anchorage, Because The Zest Of Life Exceeds The Bound Of Laws.

I Have Forgotten Much, But Still Remember The Poinsiana's Red, Blood-red In Warm December.