My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that have become deeds.
Yes, and even for the past...that it will turn out to have been all right for what it was. Something I can accept. Mistakes made by the self I had to be or was not able to be.
Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of 30.
Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.
When work becomes play, and play becomes your work, your life unfolds.
All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.