I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.

To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing.

And of course there must be something wrongIn wanting to silence any song.

Anything I can sing, I call a song. Anything I can't sing, I call a poem.

At certain times I read a lot of poetry. My favorite poets are Shelley and Keats. Rimbaud is so identifiable. Lord Byron. I don't know. Lately if I read poems, it's like I can always hear the guitar. Even with Shakespeare's sonnets I can hear a melody because it's all broken up into timed phrases so I hear it. I always keep thinking, 'What kind of song would this be?'

In the world's audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeams, and the stars of midnight.