I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
A great hope fell You heard no noise The ruin was within.
Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.
Forever is made up of nows.
Good times are always mutual; that is what makes good times.
I have an appetite for silence.