The debts we owe ourselves are the hardest to pay.
She poured a little social sewage into his ears.
Lowly, with a broken neck, The crocus lays her cheek to mire.
Published memoirs indicate the end of a man's activity, and that he acknowledges the end.
I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.