If A Man Is Not

We Are Like Trees. We Wear All Colors Naturally.

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

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

Human Dignity Is More Precious Than Prestige.

Deep In The Secret Chambers Of My Heart I Muse My Life-long Hate, And Without Flinch I Bear It Nobly As I Live My Part.