As Soon As They're Out Of Your

We Wake And Whisper Awhile, But, The Day Gone By, Silence And Sleep Like Fields Of Amaranth Lie.

After All, What Is Every Man? A Horde Of Ghosts - Like A Chinese Nest Of Boxes - Oaks That Were Acorns That Were Oaks. Death Lies Behind Us, Not In Front - In Our Ancestors, Back And Back Until.

All But Blind In His Chambered Hole Gropes For Worms The Four-clawed Mole.

Do Diddle Di Do, Poor Jim Jay Got Stuck Fast In Yesterday.

Without Imagination Of The One Kind Or Of The Other, Mortal Existence Is Indeed A Dreary And Prosaic Business... Illumined By The Imagination, Our Life, Whatever Its Defeats - Is A Never-ending Unforeseen Strangeness And Adventure And Mystery.