Does one come to enjoy even the hardships that help make one the person one is? Or is it that the past becomes a legend to be remembered with laughter?
I am not a greedy person except about flowers and plants, and then I become fanatically greedy.
Time spent with poets is never wasted.
It is, I assume, quite easy to wither into old age, and hard to grow into it.
When we admit our vulnerability, we include others. If we deny it, we shut them out.
I cannot understand why poetry is not taught at schools as a way of seeing, a quick, untiring path to essentials.