Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.

I like an ending that's both a door and a window.

My mother never forgave my father

You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.

Some poems present themselves as cliffs that need to be climbed. Others are so defensive that when you approach their enclosure you half expect to be met by a snarling dog at the gate. Still others want to smother you with their sticky charms.

When they shall paint our sockets gray And light us like a stinking fuse, Remember that we once could say, Yesterday we had a world to lose.