Was It For This The

For By My Glee Might Many Men Have Laughed, And Of My Weeping May Something Have Been Left, Which Must Die Now.

Red Lips Are Not So Red As The Stained Stones Kissed By The English Dead.

I Was A Boy When I First Realized That The Fullest Life Liveable Was A Poet's

No-man's Land Under Snow Is Like The Face Of The Moon: Chaotic, Crater Ridden, Uninhabitable, Awful, The Abode Of Madness.

All Theological Lore Is Becoming Distasteful To Me.