Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the color of the wind. Maxwell Bodenheim ...
There’s a river of darkness in my blood And through every vein, I feel the flood ...
The poverty of our century is unlike that of any other. It is not, as poverty ...
Oh, my ways are strange ways,and new ways and old ways,and deep ways and steep ways,and ...
“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with ...
Let your love be like the misty rains, coming softly, but flooding the river. — i ...