Poets need not go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water.
The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength. To feel the earth as rough to all my length.
The middle of the road is where the white line is—and that's the worst place to drive.
Thinking isn't agreeing or disagreeing. That's voting.
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I'll forgive Thy great big joke on me.