Nightly I put up this humble petition:
'Forgive me, O Father of Glories,
My sins of commission, my sins of omission,
My sins of the Mission Dolores.'

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

A quatrain fills a little space,
Although it's pretty small,
And oftentimes, as in this case,
It has no point at all.

We hugg, imprison, hang, and save,
This foe, this friend, our Lord, our slave.


While thus I hang, you threatned see
The fate of him that stealeth mee.

A certain old maid at Port Victor
had many strange pets to afflict her,
her Kangaroos fought
with the emus she caught
and when she protested, they kicked her

Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek,
Over my open volume you will say,
“This man loved me!” then rise and trip away.

Let none resemble another; let each resemble the highest!
How can that happen? let each be all complete in itself.

On her beautiful face there are smiles of grace
That linger in beauty serene
And there are no pimples, encircling her dimples,
As ever, as yet, I have seen.

Are these your presences, my clan from Heaven?
Are these your hands upon my wounded soul?
Mine own, mine own, blood of my blood be with me,
Fly by my path till you have made me whole!

A pot poured out
Fulfills its spout