Poetry must be new as foam, and as old as the rock.
Poetry must be new as foam, and as old as the rock.
A Barred Owl The warping night-air having brought the boom Of an owl's voice into her darkened room, We tell…
The earth is crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God, but only those with eyes to see…
Mathematicians at Work hunker down on their hands and knees and sniff the problem poke it with ungentle fingers rub…