Poets Sing Our Human Music

Where I Lived - Winter And Hard Earth.i Sat In My Cold Stone Roomchoosing Tough Words, Granite, Flint,to Break The Ice. My Broken Heart -i Tried That, But It Skimmed,flat, Over The Frozen Lake.she Came From A Long, Long Way,but I Saw Her At Last, Walking,my Daughter, My Girl, Across The Fields,in Bare Feet, Bringing All Spring's Flowersto Her Mother's House. I Swearthe Air Softened And Warmed As She Moved,the Blue Sky Smiling, None Too Soon,with The Small Shy Mouth Of A New Moon.

Having A Child Takes You Back To All Those Parts Of Your Own Childhood That You Had Hidden Away.

I Think All Poets Must Feel This: That There Is Constantly Something New To Be Discovered In The Language. It's Like A Thrilling Encounter, And You Can Find Things.

The Stars Are Filming Us For No One.

Every Day Is A Gift With A Child, No Matter What Problems You Have.