A poem is like a painting.

Sometimes even excellent Homer nods.

Carpe diem. (Seize the day.)

I have lived: tomorrow the Father may fill the sky with black clouds or with cloudless sunshine.

One wanders to the left, another to the right. Both are equally in error, but, are seduced by different delusions.

Often you must turn your stylus to erase, if you hope to write anything worth a second reading.

Take heed lest you stumble.