I will be gone from here and sing my songs/ In the forest wilderness where the wild beasts are,/ And carve in letters on the little trees/ The story of my love, and as the trees/ Will grow letters too will grow, to cry/ In a louder voice the story of my love.

Impotent fury rages powerless and to no purpose.

Let us go singing as far as we go: the road will be less tedious.

Live on in your blessings, your destiny's been won. But ours calls us on from one ordeal to the next.

Time passes irrevocably.

Womankind Is ever a fickle and a changeful thing.

Perhaps even these things, one day, will be pleasing to remember.