Unto The Man Of Yearning

The Wombat Is A Joy, A Triumph, A Delight, A Madness!

The Worst Moment For The Atheist Is When He Is Really Thankful And Has Nobody To Thank.

This Sunlight Shames November Where He Grieves In Dead Red Leaves, And Will Not Let Him Shun The Day, Though Bough With Bough Be Overrun. But With A Blessing Every Glade Receives High Salutation.

And Love, Our Light At Night And Shade At Noon,lulls Us To Rest With Songs, And Turns Awayall Shafts Of Shelterless Tumultuous Day.

Beauty Like Hers Is Genius.