But time in only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there'll be mushrooms, fairy-ring mushrooms in the grass, sweetest of all fungi.

What power has love but forgiveness?

Either I exist or I do not exist, and no amount of pap which I happen to be lapping can dull me to the loss.

You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.

You have the chicken, the hen, and the rooster. The chicken goes with the hen So who is having sex with the rooster?

Time is a storm in which we are all lost.

The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.