Friends make pretence of following to the grave but before one is in it, their minds are turned and making the best of their way back to life and living people and things they understand.

Writing a poem is discovering.

If you don't know how great this country is, I know someone who does; Russia.

In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.

What is done is done for the love of it- or not really done at all.

So when at times the mob is swayed To carry praise or blame too far, We may choose something like a star To stay our minds on and be staid.

The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.