And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release — out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelons, roses, how should it know?

Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.

If [America] forgets where she came from, if the people lose sight of what brought them along, if she listens to the deniers and mockers, then will begin the rot and dissolution.

Where was I going? I puzzled and wondered about it til I actually enjoyed the puzzlement and wondering.

I took to wearing a black tie known as the Ascot, with long drooping ends. I had seen pictures of painters, sculptors, poets, wearing this style of tie.

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.

I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.