In the family drinking well
Willie pushed his sister Nell.
She's there yet, because it kilt her —
Now we have to buy a filter.

In the encyclopedia
Are facts on which you can't improve.
As: " The clitoris is present
In all mammals. Sometimes, as in
The female hyena, it is

In the dim light, red and red,
the girl dances all alone.
In the dim light, shedding tears,
the girl fades, too, all alone.
In the dim light, for memory,
the dancing person, the one alone.

In the beginning the Great Spirit gave the prairie rare gifts:
The mirage, the warm rains of springtime, the grasses and the flowers;
The buffalo, the village by the river and the children basking in the sun.
Happy were we then, O, my people!
But from the East a white warrior came and with a mighty arrow wounded the prairie;
And the grasses and the flowers withered and the herds and villages melted away —
Melted, O, my people! as the snow melts before the Chinook.
In time the wound healed, but a scar was left — a long, white scar across the prairie's breast.

In the air that limps between seashells ...
tatters of a slain bird,
the fishes of sailors who will not return.
Air of fragrances:
an Indian woman brushing her hair
beneath the washline,
lobsters smoking on the grill —
and this damp shirt.

In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay,
On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor'd near the shore,
An old, dismasted, gray and batter'd ship, disabled, done,
After free voyages to all the seas of earth, haul'd up at last and hawser'd tight,
Lies rusting, mouldering.

In Se'enteen Hunder 'n Forty-Nine
The Deil gat stuff to mak a swine,
An' coost it in a corner;
But wilily he chang'd his plan,
An' shap'd it something like a man,
An' ca'd it Andrew Turner.

In nineteen years, we have parted, and met;
now I meet you, part from you again —
how heavy the feeling!
We brew tea, and sweep the ground
to share with the moonlight,
face each other, and play our lute
until the bells of dawn.

In Mornigan's park there is a deer,
Silver horns and golden ear,
Neither fish, flesh, feather, nor bone,
In Mornigan's park she walks alone.
The moon

In May I go a-walking to hear the linnet sing,
The blackbird and the throstle, a-praising God the King;
It cheers the heart to hear them, to see the leaves unfold,
And the meadows scattered over with buttercups of gold.