All Poetry Is Putting The Infinite Within

I See My Way As Birds Their Trackless Way. I Shall Arrive,- What Time, What Circuit First, I Ask Not; But Unless God Send His Hail Or Blinding Fire-balls, Sleet Or Stifling Snow, In Some Time, His Good Time, I Shall Arrive: He Guides Me And The Bird. In His Good Time.

My Sun Sets To Rise Again.

What Of Soul Was Left, I Wonder, When The Kissing Had To Stop?

Once More On My Adventure Brave And New.

Other Heights In Other Lives, God Willing.