With A Poem You Can Say 'i

April Is The Cruellest Month.

The Good Poet Welds His Theft Into A Whole Of Feeling Which Is Unique, Utterly Different From That From Which It Was Torn; The Bad Poet Throws It Into Something Which Has No Cohesion.

The Great Ages Did Not Contain The Best Talent, They Wasted Less.

People Exercise An Unconscious Selection In Being Influenced.

Oh, Do Not Ask, 'what Is It?'/let Us Go And Make Our Visit.