They Learned No Compassion From Their Own

You Took A Walk On A Sunday Afternoon And Came To A Nice Neighborhood, Very Refined. You Saw A Small One Of These Trees Through The Iron Gate Leading To Someone's Yard And You Knew That Soon That Section Of Brooklyn Would Get To Be A Tenement District. The Tree Knew. It Came There First. Afterwards, Poor Foreigners Seeped In And The Quiet Old Brownstone Houses Were Hacked Up Into Flats, Feather Beds Were Pushed Out On The Window Sills To Air And The Tree Of Heaven Flourished. That Was The Kind Of Tree It Was. It Liked Poor People.

She Had Heard Papa Sing So Many Songs About The Heart; The Heart That Was Breaking - Was Aching - Was Dancing -was Heavy Laden - That Leaped For Joy - That Was Heavy In Sorrow - That Turned Over - That Stood Still. She Really Believed The Heart Actually Did Those Things.

As Long As One Can Suffer, One Is Living....live And Suffer Until Life Is Gone.

Oh, I Wish I Was Young Again When Everything Seemed So Wonderful!

And You Must Tell The Child The Legends I Told You - As My Mother Told Them To Me And Her Mother To Her. You Must Tell The Fairy Tales Of The Old Country. You Must Tell Of Those Not Of The Earth Who Live Forever In The Hearts Of The People.