We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.

My first stringed instrument was a cigar box banjo where I cut and turned the pegs and strung the wires myself.

Come clean with a child heart Laugh as peaches in the summer wind Let rain on a house roof be a song Let the writing on your face be a smell of apple orchards on late June.

Never will a time come when the most marvelous recent invention is as marvelous as a newborn child.

Come on, you Do you want to live forever?

Poetry is the report of a nuance between two moments, when people say, 'Listen!' and 'Did you see it?' 'Did you hear it? What was it?'

Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.