What I Do Is Me,

Beauty Is A Relation, And The Apprehension Of It A Comparison.

And The Headbonny Ash That Sits Over The Burn. What Would The World Be, Once Bereft Of Wet And Of Wildness? Let Them Be Left, O Let Them Be Left, Wildness And Wet: Long Live The Weeds And The Wilderness Yet.

Horrible To Say, In A Manner I Am A Communist.

Natural Heart's Ivy, Patience Masks Our Ruins Of Wrecked Past Purpose.

No Wonder Of It: Sheer Plod Makes Plough Down Sillion Shine, And Blue-bleak Embers, Ah My Dear, Fall, Gall Themselves, And Gash Gold-vermilion.