Life is tons of discipline.

You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's.

O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief... Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst.

Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Ants are a curious race

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.