O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief... Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst.

I hope to leave behind a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.

In spring more mortal singers than belongTo any one place cover us with song.Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng.

The middle of the road is where the white line is - and that's the worst place to drive.

One of the hardest things in life to accept is a called third strike.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.