Depression is to me as daffodils were to Wordsworth.
Clearly money has something to do with life.
Uncontradicting solitude Supports me on its giant palm; And like a sea-anemone Or simple snail, there cautiously Unfolds, emerges, what I am.
I am always trying to 'preserve' things by getting other people to read what I have written, and feel what I felt.
The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said.
A good poem about failure is a success.