A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.
A definite purpose, like blinders on a horse, inevitably narrows its possessor's point of view.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.
The only way out is through.
Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.
He says the best way out is always through. / And I can agree to that, or in so far / As that I can see no way out but through