Fortunately, we don't need to know how bad an age is. There is something we can always be doing without reference to how good or bad the age is.

They would not find me changed from him they knew - only more sure of all I thought was true.

Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.

The only way out is through.

The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I'll forgive Thy great big joke on me.

The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.