There must be something strangely sacred about salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.

Your body is the harp of the soul.

Some think I wink at them when I shut my eyes to avoid their sight.

That deed which in our guilt we today call weakness, will appear tomorrow as an essential link in the complete chain of Man.

I am forever walking upon these shores, Betwixt the sand and the foam, The high tide will erase my food prnts, And the wind will blow away the foam, But the sea and the shore will remain forver

Poetry is not the opinion stated. It is a song that appears instead of a bloody wound or a smiling mouth.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth./The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.