It's just an old alley cat that has followed us all the way home. It hasn't a star on its forehead, or a silky satiny coat. No proud tiger stripes, no dainty tread, no elegant velvet throat. It's a splotchy, blotchy city cat, not a pretty cat, a rough little bag of old bones. 'Beauty,' we shall call you. 'Beauty' come in.

It's just an old alley cat that has followed us all the way home. It hasn't a star on its forehead, or a silky satiny coat. No proud tiger stripes, no dainty tread, no elegant velvet throat. It's a splotchy, blotchy city cat, not a pretty cat, a rough little bag of old bones. 'Beauty,' we shall call you. 'Beauty' come in.

Morning is a new sheet of paper for you to write on.

Scratch a Jew and you'll find a Wailing Wall.

...a good poem contains both meaning and music

I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask: "Mother, what was war?"

When something is too beautiful or too terrible or even too funny for words, then it is time for poetry.