I know the colour rose, and it is lovely, But not when it ripens in a tumour; And healing greens, leaves and grass, so springlike, In limbs that fester are not springlike.

Praying is another way of singing.You plant in the tree the soul of lemons.You plant in the gardens the spirit of roses.

The theme of Death is to Poetry what Mistaken Identity is to Drama.

Leave my soul alone, leave my soul alone

Are all men in disguise except those crying?

I know the colour rose, and it is lovely, But not when it ripens in a tumour; And healing greens, leaves and grass, so springlike, In limbs that fester are not springlike.

I hope to go into a poem sober and come out a little drunk. And if I do then that's a real poem.