Trees Are Poems That The

I Use Hate As A Weapon To Defend Myself; Had I Been Strong, I Would Never Have Needed That Kind Of Weapon.

Doubt Is A Pain Too Lonely To Know That Faith Is His Twin Brother. Doubt Is A Foundling Unhappy And Astray, And Though His Own Mother Who Gave Him Birth Should Find Him And Enfold Him, He Would Withdraw In Caution And In Fear.

Your Body Is The Harp Of The Soul.

Between What Is Said And Not Meant, And What Is Meant And Not Said, Most Of Love Is Lost.

Work Is Love Made Visible. And If You Cannot Work With Love But Only With Distaste, It Is Better That You Should Leave Your Work And Sit At The Gate Of The Temple And Take Alms Of Those Who Work With Joy. For If You Bake Bread With Indifference, You Bake A Bitter Bread That Feeds But Half Man's Hunger. And If You Grudge The Crushing Of The Grapes, Your Grudge Distils A Poison In The Wine. And If You Sing Though As Angels, And Love Not The Singing, You Muffle Man's Ears To The Voices Of The Day And The Voices Of The Night.