More Men Die Of Worry

I Would Not Come In. I Meant Not Even If Asked, And I Hadn't Been.

But These Are Flowers That Fly And All But Sing: And Now From Having Ridden Out Desire They Lie Closed Over In The Wind And Cling Where Wheels Have Freshly Sliced The April Mire.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

The Tree The Tempest With A Crash Of Wood Throws Down In Front Of Us Is Not To Bar Our Passage To Our Journey's End For Good, But Just To Ask Us Who We Think We Are.

A Successful Lawsuit Is The One Worn By A Policeman.