A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
What are we? Young or new? We must be something.
A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to look
Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes the pressure off the second.
The people I want to hear about are the people who take risks.
Everything written is as good as it is dramatic. It need not declare itself in form, but it is drama or nothing.