I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.
Fireflies in the Garden By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Here come real stars to fill the upper skies, And here on earth come emulating flies, That though they never equal stars in size, (And they were never really stars at heart) Achieve at times a very star-like start. Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
Affection is an overpowering craving to be compellingly sought.
Humour is the most engaging cowardice. With it myself I have been able to hold some of my enemy in play far out of gunshot.
I am not a nature poet. There is almost always a person in my poems.
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