Poetry Is Play. I'd Even

Oh, Come Forth Into The Storm And Rout And Be My Love In The Rain.

You've Often Heard Me Say - Perhaps Too Often - That Poetry Is What Is Lost In Translation. It Is Also What Is Lost In Interpretation. That Little Poem Means Just What It Says And It Says What It Means, Nothing Less But Nothing More.

I'd Like To Get Away From Earth Awhile / And Then Come Back To It And Begin Over.

Nor Is There Wanting In The Press Some Spirit To Stand Simply Forth, Heroic In It Nakedness, Against The Uttermost Of Earth. The Tale Of Earth's Unhonored Things Sounds Nobler There Than 'neath The Sun; And The Mind Whirls And The Heart Sings, And A Shout Greets The Daring One.

I Write To Find Out What I Didn't Know I Knew.