Poetry Is The Synthesis Of

I Have Become Infected, Now That I See How Beautifully A Book Is Coming Out Of All This.

Under The Summer Roses When The Flagrant Crimson Lurks In The Dusk Of The Wild Red Leaves, Love, With Little Hands, Comes And Touches You With A Thousand Memories, And Asks You Beautiful, Unanswerable Questions.

Hog Butcher For The World, Tool Maker, Stacker Of Wheat, Player With Railroads And The Nation's Freight Handler; Stormy, Husky, Brawling, City Of Big Shoulders.

The Dead Hold In Their Hands Only What They Have Given Away.

Never Will A Time Come When The Most Marvelous Recent Invention Is As Marvelous As A Newborn Child.