Do not let a pall of perdiction cloud your vision nor shroud the gaiety, the gloom that befall each living moment, breath of delight for like sadness turned to music, light engulfs those who listen and reach to kiss experience in its giddy flight. But what mysterious urge could make us want a great surge of last year's dried pod and leaf occupying space when new buds want to bloom. Content yourself with atomic flight. Do not cling, do not sigh, fume or berate. Sorrow will plume as stars of the night.
Butterflies wings are fragile and hued in elegant style even along the Nile.
The day has come still dark as rum with the moon full before the gull flies in the light just after night. Up comes the sun having just won the right to shine through the tall pine branches where moon light seeks her boon and hides her blush. She need not rush. She has all day to hide her way and come again when sun cries when. Upon the death of the rose and summer the sun goes down, the winds rise up and begin to murmur.