Slang Is A Language That Rolls Up

Every Blunder Behind Us Is Giving A Cheer For Us, And Only For Those Who Were Willing To Fail Are The Dangers And Splendors Of Life.

I Make It Clear Why I Write As I Do And Why Other Poets Write As They Do. After Hundreds Of Experiments I Decided To Go My Own Way In Style And See What Would Happen.

Where Was I Going? I Puzzled And Wondered About It Til I Actually Enjoyed The Puzzlement And Wondering.

I Want To Do The Right Thing, But Often I Don't Know Just What The Right Thing Is. Every Day I Know I Have Come Short Of What I Would Like To Have Done. Yet As The Years Pass And I See The Very World Itself, With Its Oceans And Mountains And Plains, As Something Unfinished, A Peculiar Little Satisfaction Hunts Out The Corners Of My Heart. Sunsets And Evening Shadows Find Me Regretful At Task's Undone, But Sleep And The Dawn And The Air Of The Morning Touch Me With Freshening Hopes. Strange Things Blow In Through My Window On The Wings Of The Night Wind And I Don't Worry About My Destiny.

Let The Gentle Bush Dig Its Root Deep And Spread Upward To Split The Boulder.