The cheerless poplar caught a breeze And turned its shiny side To the sun...

He, Begun with childhood wonder At sourceless light and sudden cold, And moving, guideless mind, Is blinded to cause by that same Light and cold and motion- but Coherent thought bring questions and questions And answers answers...

The bells, the bells-can you hear them? One by one they throw out the hours that died Without hope for resurrection Without lamentation Without pain...

I read a poem that almost made it. It told of love in almost perfect rhyme, And I read it to my almost love At the almost perfect time... And almost made her...