Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

If it meant my love was really true, I'd gladly die and watch over you.

I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

And every one of them words rang true and glowed like burnin' coal. Pourin' off of every page, like it was written in my soul from me to you.

Poetry should be common in experience but uncommon in books.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.