Poetry Is A Tracing Of

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar.

I Remember The Chillicothe Ballplayers Grappling The Long Island Ball Players In A Sixteen-inning Game Ended By Darkness. And The Shoulders Of The Chillicothe Players Were A Red Smoke Against The Sundown And The Shoulders Of The Rock Island Players Were A Yellow Smoke Against The Sundown. And The Umpire's Voice Was Hoarse Calling Balls And Strikes And Outs And The Umpire's Throat Fought In The Dust For A Song.

I Was Up Day And Night With Lincoln For Years. I Couldn't Have Picked A Better Companion.

A Liar Is A Liar And Lives On The Lies He Tells And Dies In A Life Of Lies.

Freedom Is Baffling: Men Having It Often Know Not They Have It Till It Is Gone And They No Longer Have It.