Democracy whose sure insurgent stride
Jars kingdoms to their ultimate stone of pride.
At Little Virgil’s Window
There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket,
And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it,
Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter,
And our God be glad and our world be sweeter!
The Muse of Brotherhood
I am in the Expectancy that runs:
My feet are in the Future, whirled afar