This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.

Our breath is brief, and being so Let's make our heaven here below, And lavish kindness as we go.

A promise made is a debt unpaid.

Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.

His life, though none too long, Was never dull: Of woman, wine and song Bill had his full.

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't sit still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.

Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark.