Poetry Is The Cipher Key

The Moon Is A Friend For The Lonesome To Talk To.

Tell No Man Anything, For No Man Listens Yet Hold Thy Lips Ready To Speak.

The Buffaloes Are Gone. And Those Who Saw The Buffaloes Are Gone.

Corn Wind In The Fall, Come Off The Black Lands, Come Off The Whisper Of The Silk Hangers, The Lap Of The Flat Spear Leaves.

I Fell In Love, Not Deep, But I Fell Several Times And Then Fell Out.