To be alive──is Power.
In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen!
I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!
Sunrise: day's great progenitor.
I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious
When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.