With My Own Group I

The Basic Line In Any Good Verse Is Cadenced... Building It Around The Natural Breath Structures Of Speech.

Man Thrives Where Angels Would Die Of Ecstasy And Where Pigs Would Die Of Disgust.

The Mature Man Lives Quietly, Does Good Privately, Takes Responsibility For His Actions, Treats Others With Friendliness And Courtesy, Finds Mischief Boring And Avoids It. Without The Hidden Conspiracy Of Goodwill, Society Would Not Endure An Hour.

There Have Always Been Those Who, Though They See Tragedy As The Outcome Of Freedom, Will Nevertheless Judge That Tragedy Is Not Too High A Price To Pay.

A White Crowned Night Sparrow Sings As The Moon Sets. Thunder Growls Far Off. Our Campfire Is A Single Light. Amongst A Hundred Peaks And Waterfalls. The Manifold Voices Of Falling Water Take All Night. Wrapped In Your Down Bag Starlight On You Cheeks And Eyelids Your Breath Comes And Goes In A Tiny Cloud In The Frosty Night. Ten Thousand Birds Sing In The Sunrise. Ten Thousand Years Revolve Without Change. All This Will Never Be Again.