There Is No Mind So

Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To Write.

Our Farmers Round, Well Pleased With Constant Gain, Like Other Farmers, Flourish And Complain.

Circles In Water As They Wider Flow The Less Conspicuous In Their Progress Grow, And When At Last They Trench Upon The Shore, Distinction Ceases And They're View'd No More.

Life's Bloomy Flush Was Lost.

Fears Of Sinning Let In Thoughts Of Sin.